


A STRANGE Story

by juliana_hamilton



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 04:56:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19805191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliana_hamilton/pseuds/juliana_hamilton
Summary: Just prior to the events of Infinity War, Stephen Strange takes in a homeless woman from the streets of New York, sensing that she may have special abilities.





	1. Homeless

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Doctor Strange (2016), Avengers: Infinity War and finished after the release of Avengers: Endgame. Any errors are my own (no beta!) and I do not own any of the characters from the MCU. Mostly PG, some romance, a bit of profanity towards the end. Thanks in advance for reading, comments and feedback welcome!

Jean lies huddled against the hard granite wall, curled in upon herself to try and keep the wind from piercing her thin cotton jacket. Pulling her arms in close to her belly, her hands wrapped in rags, they ache. It may be the cold, or the long night that is ending as the sun tries to fit it’s rays between the tall buildings of the city. The stone against her back is cold, so cold, and though she wants to sleep, the ache in her soul makes it impossible. 

It was a long night, moving from shelter to shelter, finding the lost ones and quietly laying her hands on them. She has to be careful, no one really understands what it is she does. She’s been chased out, yelled at, arrested and beaten, but it doesn’t stop her. None of it could stop her. There’s nothing else she can do, and now she is homeless, hungry and cold. But maybe, if one or two of them tonight, could rise up from the release of their pain and make a new start...it might be worth it. 

So many in this world, just drowning in pain. Paralyzed by the demons inside, the past, their present, the dismal and hopeless future. Through a simple touch, she absorbs their suffering, pulling it into herself, setting them free. But at what cost? After a night like this, she is full of others’ loss and tragedy, weighed down until she cannot move. 

Finding a sheltered spot out of the wind, hoping she will recover enough strength to go out again tonight, she realizes as the day breaks that this recessed doorway she has chosen is on a busy street and walkway...she is too exposed here. Stumbling to her feet, trying not to put any pressure on her hands, she shuffles down the sidewalk, looking for a side alley. Passing a window, catching a glimpse of herself, knowing she looks like a madwoman, her long black hair matted and wild, her face is haggard and lined, lips pale and eyes shadowed. Finding the alley, she checks to see that it is relatively safe, locating another doorway to crouch down in, hoping to rest in peace for a couple hours.

When she was young she was ridiculed for feeling too much, being too sensitive. In a family of strong, independent and successful people she was so different. Her kindness was considered a weakness, they tried to train it out of her. Long ago she stopped saying it wasn’t her fault, she was born that way. She just left, and tried to ease people’s suffering as best she could, figuring that was her particular gift in this harsh world. But she knew she wouldn’t last long on the streets, especially with winter breathing bitter wind through the cracks of the city. The shelters she visited sometimes wouldn’t allow her to stay the night, saying she was odd, and that she ‘bothered people’, so she found places to lie low during the day, halfheartedly search for a meal, before visiting again each night.

An empath. That’s what they called her after the last time she was hospitalized. The doctors said she felt others pain and misery so acutely it affected her own mental health. They weren’t wrong, but they weren’t completely right either. There was more to it. By touching others, simply a hand to the top of a head, or holding both hands, the negative emotions flowed into her. They literally transferred to her, she wasn’t just connecting and feeling what they felt. She could see their relief, the peace as the darkness flowed away from them. Only it filled her...and day after day, she couldn’t not go back, but there was no one to take it from her. So it builds, and she weakens…

Curled up tight, hands drawn in to what little warmth her body contained, she bows her head and drifts into a restless, sleepy state. She dreams, or remembers, it is not very clear...of the young boy she met in the woods when she was a child herself. She would spend her days wandering the green paths, knowing even at that young age that sometimes being around people was exhausting to her. She found him tucked into the hollowed out trunk of an ancient oak, weeping and clawing at himself. Speaking to him with soothing words, he slowly calmed, reaching out to take her hand.

At the instant of contact, the memories flooded her mind and body...fire, smoke, screaming...the boy tried to save his family from the incinerating heat, coughing, eyes watering, holding his baby sister close to his chest as he attempts to flee the thick darkness ...Jean felt his pain, his struggle, his heart breaking as the tall firefighter behind the mask pries the still form from his tight grip. The days of loneliness and uncertainty as he is shuffled from hospital to orphanage, to foster homes, distant and uncommunicative. 

His trauma flows into her, wracking her mind, body and heart with grief and isolation...but for the first time, she notices with new clarity how his body relaxes, his features smooth and he rests peacefully in his nest of soft leaves and pine needles. She smooths his hair back from his face and leaves him. Months later she sees him at the local fair, eyes bright and shiny, body healed and strong. He has been adopted into a loving family, and though she hesitates to take any credit for herself, on some level she knows the release she offered him allowed him to accept kindness and begin his life anew. 

At some point in her restless state, a door opens nearby with a quiet click, and strong arms cradle and lift her, she doesn't have the awareness or the strength to resist. Another soft click as the door closes, and she has the impression of being carried a long way, through rooms with tall ceilings and open spaces, where the sound resonates and footsteps echo. There is no skin to skin contact, and she reads nothing from he who holds her. The last thing she remembers is being lowered onto a soft, clean-smelling bed; a bed...so very long since she slept in a proper bed, and unconsciousness pours over her like a warm blanket.

Waking with a start, she looks around the room, unfamiliar space, the only light from two small windows up high. The room is small and dark, but appears to be clean, furnished simply with a narrow bed and side table, writing desk and chair, and a small dresser on the opposite wall. Pulling herself up, crowding against the headboard of the bed, Jean gathers the thin blankets around her, trying not to let her fear and uncertainty overwhelm her. With no idea where she is, or who brought her here she is at a loss. Still filled with trauma and suffering from the night before, she begins to shake and cry, though she does so silently. 

The door opens to a round Asian man in some kind of dark robe, bearing a tray which he sets down gently on the desk. “Greetings, Miss. I am Wong.” He stands at the end of the bed, looking at her, seeming uncomfortable, but kind. “I have brought you a meal, and the bathroom is just down the hall to your left if you wish to refresh yourself. There is a clean robe there for you. The Doctor will be in to see you shortly.” He bows slightly and backs out of the room.

Jean is left speechless. Doctor? The room does not seem like a hospital or office, and ‘Wong’ is even less like a nurse...what is going on here? But the smell of food from the desk derails her questioning mind. Stepping away from the bed, she feels shaky, it has been over 24 hours since she had any sustenance. Sitting carefully at the desk, under the metal dish covers she finds chicken soup, crusty bread, sliced apples and a cup of hot tea sweetened with honey. The broth is rich and flavorful, the apples juicy and crisp. 

Feeling restored by the simple meal, she stands in the middle of the room, trying to summon up the courage to step out to the bathroom, but finds she is timid, afraid that if she leaves it will all disappear, and she will come to, cold and aching against the rigid stone wall. At that moment she notices soft music playing; piano, violin, cello...calming and soothing. Stepping to the door, the music seems to draw her out, the hallway outside her room is actually a balcony overlooking a large entryway with an ornate central staircase. The place seems deserted, but not abandoned. The walls are covered in dark, rich fabrics, paintings, glass cases displaying curious objects. The music a little louder here, well, not so much louder as clearer. 

Turning left, she walks past a few closed doors to find the bathroom, which is luxurious and furnished with a large white, claw-foot tub. Locking the door behind her, she runs hot water in the tub, while she undresses and finds a selection of grooming materials laid out on the counter by the sink. Taking a silver backed brush, she begins working through the matted mess of her hair. Giving up on the brush, she takes the scissors and cuts it off, just below her ears. Stripping out of the rest of her clothes, she notices how dirty and smelly they are and stuffs them in a nearby waste bin. 

Stepping into the large tub and sinking down into the warm water, the music is clearer yet, almost like the musicians are in the room. It is still calm and peaceful, and the water seems to have a scent to it, though she added nothing to it...lavender? Bergamot? Stretching out in the tub, she feels so good, so very warm and safe. And considering that she has no idea whose house she is in, or what is going to happen...normally she would be a cluster of nerves and anxiety. For some reason, though, it is easy to let go, breathe deeply and let the warm water melt away her troubles. 

After a nice long soak, she realizes the music has faded and the water is cooling, Jean washes her hair and body, drains the tub, and dries off with a large, soft gray towel. On a chair next to the sink she finds clothes, folded neatly and smelling fresh. Soft, loose gray pants with a drawstring waist and an unusual wrap-style top in the same color and fabric with a wide sash-like belt in white. Again, she stops, hesitates with uncertainty...knowing nothing about where she is, or who is providing her with such luxury…

Running a large-toothed comb through her now shortened hair, it is a bit choppy, but feels so much better than the messy mane she glimpsed in a window earlier today. Looking in the mirror, she sees her face, not so gray and haggard, she is too thin, her cheekbones standing out sharply against her otherwise soft features. Heart-shaped face, wide-set light gray eyes with dark rings around the pupils and thick black lashes. Small mouth, full lips, a little gap between her front teeth. This is the first time she has looked at herself in months, her first bath in over a week. Whoever has done this for her, for whatever reason...she is grateful. Taking a tube of lip balm from the counter, she applies it to chapped and sore lips, and slides it into her pants pocket, intending to ask...Wong...or whomever, if it is okay. 

On her way back to ‘her’ room, she notices how quiet the place is. As big as it is, you would think there would be many people around, but she is still not sure what it is. Looking out over the central staircase, she is transfixed by a beautiful circular window high above the main hall, with segmented parts and an unusual design or symbol. A voice behind her, low and resonant, speaks, “It is quite unusual, isn’t it?”


	2. Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean meets the Doctor. So many questions.

Turning to look, she sees a tall man behind her, slender, dressed in street clothes, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie and athletic shoes. He stands back with a non-threatening posture, his expression open and kind, though Jean could tell his features could be quite intimidating under other circumstances. Black hair, silver at the temples, defined angular bone structure and unusually intense eyes ...what color are they anyway? Cleanly shaven goatee framing an expressive mouth. He reaches out a trembling hand to her, “Hello Ma’am...I’m Stephen…” but she steps back, eyes twitching from his face to his hand and back.

Shaking hands, such a harmless, friendly gesture for most people...can be tragic for her, especially if she is unprepared to receive the onslaught that accompanies the touch. And socially, she always appears rude or awkward when she declines to shake hands. Looking at his hands again, she speaks, “Umm, hello Stephen. I’m Jean, I’m sorry...I don’t…” she gestures to his hand still out in the space between them. She tucks her hands tightly around her middle. He nods and brings his hands together in front of his chest, fingertips meeting as if in prayer, or deep thought. She is mesmerized by his hands, long, nicely-shaped fingers, except for the scarring, of course. Surgical scars, it looks like. She realizes she has been staring too long at his hands, returns her eyes to meet his, grayish-blue at the moment. “Thank you...Stephen...are you responsible for bringing me here?”

He nods, hands still in that peculiar position, meditation, monk-like. “It is nice to meet you, Jean, did you enjoy your bath?” She nods again, runs her hand through newly shorn hair. 

“Yes, very much, thank you. I appreciate the opportunity for a good night’s rest…” she starts, but he interrupts her.

“But you are still filled up with others’ suffering, yes?” His voice is calm, his eyes are kind, but his words terrify her...how can he know? “Jean, let us find somewhere to talk quietly, yes?” She nods and follows him down the hall, past her room and into an atrium of sorts. Large windows, plants, comfortable chairs and couches. 

They sit, and out of nowhere, Wong arrives with drinks on a tray, tall glasses of iced tea, garnished with mint and slices of lemon. He bows slightly and leaves them. Jean notices the music again, soft classical piano this time. “Where is the music coming from?” She asks Stephen. He waves his hand around over his head, the gesture means nothing to her, but looks anything but random.

“It comes when it is needed. It comforts you, yes?” His voice is smooth and sweet, like fine bourbon, with maybe a little sizzle at the end. Comfort and danger….

“Stephen,” her voice timid and shaky, “I appreciate the good night’s sleep, food and the bath, and I don’t want to impose...but how do you know about...well…” she makes a meaningless gesture, dropping her eyes to her lap again. “And what is this place? You’ve been very kind, but I should probably go…”

He sips his tea, and relaxes back into the cushions. “Where will you go, Jean? There is much I could tell you about this place, about myself, even about you...but you may not be ready to believe me. So let us start simply. This is a place of peace. If you wish to stay here you are welcome, for as long as you like. In return, I only wish to discuss with you, possibly help you manage your special abilities.”

Jean freezes, unable to meet his eyes. She considers herself made of kindness, her existence justified only by what she can do for others. But she is terribly unaccustomed to kindness from others. “My...special abilities...how…?” She is still curled in upon herself, hands grasped tightly together, afraid to make eye contact. 

He sighs quietly, “I, too, have special abilities, Jean. I may be able to help you do what you do, perhaps even do it better. I know I could help you manage the aftermath, if you will allow me to. But you asked how I knew...when Wong told me a woman was sleeping on our stoop, I carried you inside, and as I put you to bed, I tried to smooth the hair from your face, you were very deeply asleep, but I immediately felt a connection, and you responded as if your heart was breaking. I wanted to soothe you, but I have some knowledge of the mystical arts...and I decided to do some research while you slept, I am a very good student.”

“You, you touched me? How did you feel…” she has difficulty forming questions, embarrassed because...she decides to try to explain, “I absorb pain and suffering from others, they call me an empath, but it’s not just sharing emotion, I actually take it in...did you feel that when you touched me?”

“Yes, I did, and recognized it for a special and unusual gift. I would call you a ‘healing empath’, Jean. In my research I found only one other documented case like yours, though in many ways, not like yours at all. The young man in the case study was institutionalized, diagnosed with manic depression. You, however, seem to actively seek ways to comfort others, at great cost to yourself…” he pauses, looks at her directly, patiently, waiting for her confirmation.

She nods, feeling quite out of her comfort zone, actually speaking out loud about herself and her abilities. She looks at him, really looks… “Who are you, Stephen?” 

He sees her earnest expression, that she has accepted what he has offered so far. He stands and steps back from the sofa into some open space in the room. Raising his right hand over his head, with a complex gesture, a blurry red cloud surrounds him, swirling and forming around him, his apparel is transformed from comfortable, non-threatening casual clothes into slate blue tight trousers and shirt with complicated straps and ornamentation where it wraps around his middle, tall and heavy dark boots, a dark red cape attached at the shoulders with a dramatic collar curving around the back of his head. Around his neck a gold medallion suspended to the middle of his chest. “Jean,” his voice is the same, though his appearance has transformed in front of her, “My name is Doctor Stephen Strange.”

“This place you rested last night is the Sanctum Sanctorum, the New York portal of the mystic arts, there are others in London and Hong Kong. I am called the Sorcerer Supreme, I protect Earth from the dangers of the Multiverse.” As he speaks, Jean is distracted by the seemingly independent motion of his red cloak, which is moving and flowing about his body even though the air in the room is still. He notices her attention and he breaks the formality of his declaration, “And of course, this is the Cloak of Levitation, Cloak has a mind of it's own...as you can see.” Jean could swear the tip of the collar waved at her…

Overwhelmed, Jean puts her head down in her hands, and focuses on taking deep breaths. He stands calmly, waiting for her to work through the revelations. Straightening her shoulders, she takes another deep breath and stands. Looking again at him, she says, “Why do I feel like I fell into a comic book?” He gives a huff of a laugh, and shrugs.

“Possibly you have. You are under no obligation, Jean, and I won’t pretend that my intentions are completely selfless. You have special abilities, and I believe you might be a successful sorceress if taught appropriately, given the opportunity to learn and hone your craft. You also desperately need a way to release the negative energy you take in from healing others. I am offering to mentor you, perhaps provide you with the chance to change the direction of your life, empower yourself.”

She stands, still drawn into herself, looking down at the floor. “Jean,” his voice is soft, “You are entirely free to make your own choices...may I give you a tour? Then you are welcome to explore and think over what I have offered? Again, you are welcome to stay as long as you like, or leave, if you feel that is necessary.” Still, he waits calmly for her to decide something, anything.

Jean straightens her spine, dropping her hands down to her sides. Lifting her head, she meets his eyes with a new resolve. “Okay, Doctor Strange, a tour then.” She knows she has nothing to lose, and everything she senses about this man is honest and genuine, as ludicrous as the entire situation seems. But she has been aware of her special abilities for her entire life, maybe this was it, a way to manage the internal strife. He gestures for her to walk ahead, and takes her through the building, showing her a vast library, the kitchen, a dining area and his and Wong’s private quarters. She is surprised to see the stark simplicity in which they reside. Passing displays of relics and artifacts, he explains how the objects choose the sorcerer, when the time is right. He cautions her to be careful with objects she does not understand, that some of them serve quite brutal purposes. 

Meeting in the kitchen area, they put together a simple meal and sit together to eat, Wong joins them. Stephen asks if she has any questions, and she looks at Wong. “Thank you for your hospitality, Wong, I really appreciate it. Are you a sorcerer too?” Wong and Strange almost laugh, though they both are such serious personas, their laughter is muted, not loud and raucous. 

Wong replies, “Technically, yes, I accompany Dr. Strange into certain situations, his back up, so to speak. But mostly, I am a librarian. A keeper of knowledge.” 

Jean is feeling brave, “How do you feel about me being here, Wong?” She has not touched him, preferring to acquaint herself the old-fashioned way. 

He looks thoughtful, “I trust Dr. Strange’s judgment implicitly, and if he feels you would make a good apprentice, I will support that decision. You seem kind, though I am concerned by the weakness I see. You will need to find your strength, and open yourself to much learning, both mental and physical.” Strange nods, pleased but not surprised by his response. He and Wong respect one another’s opinions and skills.

They gather their dishes and clean up the kitchen together. Already, Jean feels comfortable with them, safe. She is relieved, it has been a very long time since she had basic necessities, food, rest, cleanliness... friendship, support, opportunity ...a future. As they leave the kitchen, Stephen speaks.

“Jean, Wong and I are going...out for the night. Please help yourself to anything in the kitchen, the library….you have much to think about, yes? In the morning we will talk again, see where you are at with my offer. If you decide to accept, we will start tomorrow with managing your internal emotional quota. Do you need to go out tonight?” He seems to know that she will, she will visit the local shelters, finding the ones who need relief. She nods. He steps to a cabinet by the front door and withdraws a large, old-fashioned key. “Take this with you, Jean, just pass it in front of any door handle on this building and the door will open to you. If you do go out, Jean, please come back here and rest afterwards, you will need your strength for the work I hope we will do together.” He reaches out as if to touch her, then pulls back, remembering. Bowing his head slightly, he and Wong step out the front door, as they pass through, their appearance shimmers, she steps to the door to see them walking down the street, Strange now dressed in a tailored blue suit and Wong in khaki pants and a nylon windbreaker.

Later that evening, after spending some time in the library, Jean visits two nearby shelters, and a homeless enclave under the North River viaduct. In her gray outfit, she drifts unnoticed through the sleeping vagrants, gravitating towards those who fret, toss and turn, or call out in the midst of dreams and nightmares. In the shelters she is accustomed to encountering feelings of addiction and physical pain, abuse and neglect. In the temporary homeless gatherings there is always a higher percentage of combat veterans, too proud to ask for assistance at the shelters, yet carrying such mental and physical burdens. Gentle touches, whispered words of comfort and she drifts away unseen. 

Arriving back at the Sanctum, Jean lets herself in with the key he gave her, and goes directly to the kitchen. Rest, food and a bath...these simple things go a long way towards helping her manage the turmoil within, and she takes a few moments to let the images and feelings surface, crying out with others’ pain, knowing she is safe and alone, able to do so. Back in her room, she strips down and climbs into bed, sleep comes quickly.


	3. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean starts her training in the Mystic Arts with Dr. Strange, and gets more than she bargained for, answers and more questions.

Waking again to bright morning light slanting through the small, high windows, she marvels at the difference between yesterday and today. Before, scared and uncertain, unable to staunch the flow of tears, terrified to step out of the room. Today, she feels clearer, though the vividness of the combat trauma she took on last night still lingers. Curious about how Dr. Strange might help her manage this, she heads for the bathroom, finding another clean set of gray robes for the day. Enjoying the comfortable apparel, not concerned about her appearance in the slightest, she heads down to the kitchen after her bath and morning grooming. 

On the kitchen counter she finds a freshly brewed pot of coffee and a box of baked goods. Helping herself to a large mug and a blueberry bagel, she takes her breakfast into the library, choosing an ancient looking tome titled The Candle of Vision, and tucks herself into a large wing chair. Reading and nibbling and sipping her coffee, she has a moment of clarity...what a gift she has been given...just 24 hours ago she was cold. Hungry. Alone with the memories and pain of others raging inside her. Though she knows it is still there, it is not controlling her or overwhelming her. Already this Dr. Strange has offered her pathways to manage...she wonders what else she might learn from him.   
Jean loses track of time as she becomes engrossed in the book about Celtic Mysticism, she is particularly taken by the idea of beauty pervasive in mundane reality. As she looks off into space, thinking about the text, she realizes she is no longer alone in the room. Stephen stands off to the side, watching her, waiting quietly. She gives him a little smile. He asks, “Find something interesting? You seemed very engrossed. Rest well?”

She nods, sets her coffee mug down and steps to stand in front of him. “Dr. Strange...Stephen. I need to thank you for this...all of this. The last 24 hours have shown me possibilities I didn’t know existed. I feel like a different person. Words cannot express my gratitude. I am ready to get started, whatever you have in mind for my training, I would be stupid not to accept.”

He nods, “Alright, Jean. It won’t be easy, you will need to embrace the idea that there is much you do not know, yes?” She nods too. “I will meet you in our training room, top floor on the left hand side, say...half an hour?” He turns and leaves the room, as she gathers her things.

Stepping into the large, open space, she gasps in wonder. Training room? It looks like a dance studio, built into a loft. Slanted eaves in dark rich wood, a wall of windows opposite a wall of mirrors. Hardwood floors gleaming, the rich smell of old wood, polish and fresh air through parted windows. Along each long wall are large chests, each with an ornate antique padlock. In the corner just near the door, Cloak floats and undulates midair. The hard surfaces of the room echo back the sound of her own breathing. Stephen is seated in the center of the room on a blue mat, like the ones used for yoga. He wears gray training robes like hers. Across from him is another, this one a rich, somber shade of purple. 

He sits cross-legged, back straight, elegant hands lying palm up on bent knees. His face, she thinks it is a beautiful face, tipped slightly up, eyes closed. He breathes in through his nose, and exhales softly through parted lips. He is positioned facing the wall of mirrors, she quietly takes her place on the purple mat, mimicking his position, she faces him and the wall of windows. Taking his lead, she adopts the same posture, and closes her eyes to focus on breathing. Long moments pass, as her breath rate settles, she notices the cool pass of fresh air on her face, the quietness of the room, the sound of his soft exhalations. It seems like an intimate moment, locked in open space and peace.

Time passes, with no interruption or distraction, Jean feels the gathered memories and images from the night before settling, fitting together like puzzle pieces. Noticing the way they feel, acknowledging the angst and suffering without allowing it to crush her. She breathes and allows this new feeling to wash over her. Softly, his low resonant voice skims her awareness. “Very good, Jean. Let them settle. Imagine they coalesce inside to one solid mass. Inside you, yet self-contained.” She listens to the rich timbre of his words, continues to breathe and imagines a dark mass of suffering gathering parts from all over her body, gravitating to one location, just under her heart, protected by her rib cage, but not interfering or causing any pressure. It brings her a sense of control, not feeling random bits of others’ suffering flying about her persona, but contained, still.

His voice again. “Alright, Jean?” She opens her eyes to see his face, eyes a light greenish-gold, wide open and searching her expression. 

“Yes.” She responds simply. 

“Okay, I am going to ask you to be brave, and it won’t be the last time I ask it of you. You see yourself as weak, and I am going to show you how strong you really are. Are you ready?” He never takes his eyes from hers, she nods, though she feels tears threaten. A sudden desperate need overtakes her, she does not want to disappoint him. He scoots his mat closer to hers, and resumes his previous posture, their bent knees almost, but not quite touching. Meeting her eyes again, he holds both hands out to her, palm up, and says softly, “Be brave, Jean. Place your hands on mine. Read me, Jean.” 

She tenses, breath caught, he is asking her to see inside him. Eyes wide, she thinks, be brave, trust him, calm your breath. Her hands shake as she lifts them to her chest, balled up in tight fists. “You can do it, I give you permission. Relax your hands and lay them on mine.” Staring into his eyes, she stretches her fingers out from the palm, extends them out over his much larger hands. “Keep your eyes open, Jean. Stay connected with me here.” She does as he asks, gently lowering her hands until soft, warm contact is made.

“Oh!” She almost closes her eyes with the rush of sensation, emotion, memory. He gives a little shake of his head, reminding her to keep eye contact, tilting his chin down and making his gaze more intense. 

“Talk to me, Jean, tell me what you are receiving.” He presses his hands just slightly up into hers, a firmer connection. The energy flow between them picks up, she feels almost a vibration as his inner soul is released to her. “Tell me…”

“Regret.” His eyelids flutter, but do not close. “More than anything, I feel your regret. A lover?”

“Yes,” he whispers, “Christine.” 

“You help people now, but for a long time you caused others pain, though you were a successful surgeon? You regret being hard, thoughtless...self-involved. I feel your shame at the lives you tossed about in your quest for success, notoriety…” She snatches her hands back, “Oh God, Stephen, I’m sorry. This feels so personal.”

He extends his hands to her, imploring, “Please, continue. I feel you taking it from me. It’s okay, Jean, this is exactly what needs to happen. Please...Jeannie…” His eyes on her face, noticing the surprise at the intimate form of her name. She carefully places her hands back on his…

Breathing in, she senses his darkest needs and fears. Regret. Shame. Pain. Insecurity… Softly he says, “Tell me.” 

Clearing her throat, she speaks, “Regret. You regret not treating people better, loving them more selflessly. You are ashamed that you were gifted with ability as a doctor, but were more wrapped up in yourself than your patients...and oh! Stephen, no...you shouldn’t feel that way…”

“It’s okay, Jean, Jeannie, you don’t mind I call you that? It is a better fit, I think…say it. I want you to know why I brought you in, why I want you here.” His eyes look wounded, but determined. “Say it out loud, Jeannie.”

She forces herself to be brave, to meet his eyes, pressing her palms down onto his more firmly. “You...you are jealous of my empathy. You see me as more human than you, you want me to help you learn compassion...teach you how to love and care for humanity.” 

“Yes, Jeannie,” his voice a whisper. “Go on.”

She rubs her hands gently against his palms, smooth motions, like caresses but also like spells, drawing out his secrets. “Your hands are always in pain, some of it physical, remnants of the accident and subsequent surgeries, much of it psychosomatic, your subconscious providing pain to keep you focused...so you don’t forget...a self-imposed punishment, for what you were before.” His face strains to hold in the emotion, her words striking him through with clarity. 

“Pressure, Stephen, I feel the pressure you are under.” She sweeps her hands over his, maintaining contact, but small circles urge him to let the feelings flow into her. “I do not understand what you told me yesterday, Sorcerer Supreme and Multiverse and all that, but I feel the weight of responsibility you carry...the weight of all the worlds, yes? Bearing down upon you alone. Too much for one person to bear, oh Stephen.” Her voice breaks. His fingers grasp hers tightly and she feels it. The last piece of his internal struggle he wants her to share. 

Regret.  
Shame.  
Pain.  
Pressure.

Loneliness.

Tears well up in her eyes as she stares into his, his hands still holding hers tightly. There is a matching shimmer along his lashes and he bites his lower lip, emotion making it tremble. 

“You are so very lonely, Stephen. You fear the responsibilities you have taken on have delegated you to a life alone. Alone with your significant powers. And on some level you believe it is exactly what you deserve.” She breaks away, pulling her hands back abruptly, bringing them to her face as she scoots away from him, curling in upon herself again, his turmoil now inside her, flowing through her body, his physical and mental pain like sharp little knives zooming about her insides, cutting, slicing, bleeding. She huddles in the fetal position, crying out, keening, wailing...and she hears him, feels him next to her. He pulls her into his arms, and speaks.

“Jeannie, yes, it’s okay, Jeannie. You can do this. Stand with me, come on, put your feet down, straighten up. Look into my eyes.” His warm hands rub her back, her arms, pulling her up tall. “Be strong, Jeannie, be brave, stand up to the pain. Remember? Push it in, make it solid, do it. Do it now. I believe in you. Strong. You are strong. Got it? Yes? Look, Jeannie, look in the mirror…” He stands behind her, uses his fingers to gently turn her head to look at herself. She stands tall, sees him behind her, his hands on her shoulders, she still shakes a little. But he is a calming presence, and when she sees their image in the mirror...it is like looking into the future.


	4. Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean begins her training with surprising results.

The days pass, settling into a routine. Early mornings with coffee and a bite to eat, comfortable in the library. Late morning sessions in the training room with Stephen, learning to control and solidify the darkness she takes in each night. He teaches her meditation, yoga and tai chi; she feels her body strengthening, the result of healthy nutrition, restful sleep and moderate exercise. Part of each session is spent together, hands connected as he shows her how to reverse the flow of energy, open herself to him.

He sees her isolation, the betrayal of her family. They never accepted what or who she was, and attempted to change her very existence. Time spent in institutions, sedated, even shock therapy as barbaric and old-fashioned as it was. Then they gave up, pushing her out, forcing her to survive on her own. Jean lets Stephen see her fragility, how broken she is, how damaged and alone. He sees it, but other than normal level empathy, he does not feel it the way she would if their positions were reversed. He tries to show her that the adversity has made her strong, that she can use her survival skills to do good in the world. 

One night she travels to the shelters in the hardest part of town. Moving among the lost, laying her hands on them, they give up their secrets as she actively applies Stephen’s words. Taking in the pain of loss, hysteria, grief and withdrawal she adds them to the collected mass, like sodden layers of paper mache to spherical form. She doesn’t realize it, but she is practicing, applying new skills to her work. In the midst of her concentration, she lays hands on a small, dark man who is moaning and thrashing on his bare cot. The instant of contact sends her reeling as images of blood and torn flesh, sounds of pleading and screaming fill her head. The small man opens his eyes, pupils so black surrounded by broken blood vessels, his face snarled into a mask of hatred as he attacks her, long ragged fingernails clawing into her arms, pulling her in he sinks his teeth into her shoulder. She struggles, finds it difficult to concentrate on protecting herself as his inner violence is still raging through her. Clawing, biting, shoving his knee into her belly she falls and he is on top of her, pulling hard on her hair as he tries to tear her apart...tears run down her face as she silently gives in, his strength is far beyond hers and no one in the shelter seems to notice the struggle, or be willing to step in…

There is a pause in the hysteria of the moment, she senses a change in the light of the room...she feels her attacker removed from where he has pinned her to the floor between makeshift cots. Opening her eyes, she sees Stephen, no, Doctor Strange in the doorway back-lit from the hallway, Cloak swirling around him as one hand makes circles in front of him and the other forms silent figures, like sign language. Flowing from one hand, a circular shield of golden orange light, ornamented with many intricate figures. From the other, a long, rope-like strand of that same light has captured and confined her attacker. Cloak detaches itself from Stephen’s shoulders, and floats through the air to softly wrap around Jean, lifting her to stand at his side. 

Still using his hands to control the light, he checks in with her, “Alright, Jeannie?” She nods, though her breath is gasping and harsh. “I need to deal with this cretin, so I need you to trust me, yeah? The shield will open a portal, just walk through. Cloak will help you, do not question me now...go!” The circular shield spins, throwing off fiery sparks, opens in the center. She looks at him with frightened eyes, but nods as she feels the cloak push her forward. As she falls through she feels warmth around her, but does not burn from the golden sparks. Opening her eyes she finds herself kneeling on the floor of the Sanctum, just inside the front door. Stunned for a moment she does not realize Wong is standing at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed over his chest, looking at her. She stands, brushing off her knees and looks at him sheepishly. 

“He has much to concern himself with. Far more important things than keeping you out of danger, Miss. We will start our sessions this afternoon. Come, you need to eat.” He gestures for her to follow him into the kitchen.

Stephen does not arrive for their usual morning work, so Jean does her breathing, meditation and stretching alone. For the first time, she hears the music in the training room, it allows her to be calm and focus somewhere other than Stephen’s absence. Every so often panic rises up in her that she is responsible for some harm coming to him...and then she notices the music, a little louder, a little clearer...and she calms. Towards the end of her session, Stephen arrives, stepping into the room looking haggard and worn. Jean runs to him, she starts to apologize, he shakes his head and holds out his hands…

She calms herself, then places her hands in his, looking into his eyes. She feels his exhaustion, but nothing else. He is not angry or resentful towards her at all. He dealt with the problem in the appropriate way and he was proud of her. “Stephen?”

He nods, “Yes, Jeannie, you are practicing your art...and doing very well, I think. It is not a burden for me to offer you my protection while you do. That particular man was a nasty piece of work...a serial killer on the loose, a madman...you did a very good thing tonight, many families will have resolution, and who knows how many lives you have saved.”

“Stephen...what was that thing you did? With the shield and the portal...just with your hands?”

“I think it is time to teach you some methods to protect yourself, Jeannie. What you saw was how I harness energy for protection and to fight, using spells and mystical knowledge. It takes time and a great deal of hard work...but I think you will be able to do it too, with time. We will add that to our sessions tomorrow, okay? Now I must rest.” He puts his hand to the back of her head, pulling her forward against his chest. “Alright, my Jeannie?” She nods against him, leaning into his tall, strong frame. “You keep at it then, and Wong will begin your martial arts training this afternoon.” She loves the way his voice rumbles through his chest into her cheek, and misses it when he pulls back and turns away to the door.

When he is gone, she steps over to the large windows, looking out over the city. Wrapping her arms around her middle, tucking her hands into her usual protective position, she realizes her hands haven’t ached in days. Spreading them out in front of her, she thinks to herself, ‘He truly is a sorcerer...just a few days’ time', and what a difference she feels. Her mind is clear, her body feels stronger, her soul untroubled. Thinking about how he pulled her into him, almost an embrace, and she did not resist. He had already established the connection, let her read him...so the physicality of their interaction did not overwhelm her. 

Staring out the window again, she wonders...do sorcerers fall in love? Seek physical companionship? She herself never allowed anyone that close, because touch was such an issue for her. But he, he knows how to make it okay, and...God. For just a moment, she closes her eyes, imagines what it would be like to kiss him. To lay her hands on his face and draw him to her, touching lips so gently. How soft and warm he would feel to her, how he would taste... She shakes the idea from her head. How impossible...he brought her here to work and learn, not to fantasize about falling in love. How ungrateful would that be, to crush on him, while he was really doing far more than necessary for her...back to work.

That afternoon, she meets Wong in the training room, ready for whatever instruction he will give. They start out with simple blocking motions and defensive moves. He gives her sequences to practice and is extremely critical about her form. Over and over again, she feels like the Karate Kid, repeating the same motion while Wong corrects her stance, center of gravity, posture, head position...it is physically draining. But she keeps at it, pushing herself, knowing that she needs to earn Wong’s respect, that she wants him to see the value in her. After two hours he calls a halt to their work, saying nothing other than to indicate they will work again tomorrow.

The next morning, Stephen meets her in the library, joining her for a cup of coffee. He says softly, “Jeannie, part of my job here is to constantly monitor events and timelines in the Multiverse. There have been multiple disturbances in the last week that concern me very much.”

She puts her book down to give him her full attention. “Can you explain the ‘multiverse’ to me, Stephen? Is it like the universe, but more of them?” 

He nods, “Yes, and no. Each world, or plane of existence has multiple dimensions. The Mystic Arts study and hold the keys to moving between dimensions, even changing timelines. So the universe, the one our scientists are exploring, is just one of many, all of which have exponential numbers of different dimensions.”

Her mouth drops open as he speaks. “So you’re saying,...god, I sound like an idiot...but alien species and such?”

He gives her a small closed-mouth smile. “Yes, and you are not an idiot. The people on this planet, myself included for a large part of my life, exist in a safe little bubble of ignorance, protected by people like me, and Wong, and others throughout the world. We do our work mostly in secret, but there are some that are more public, whose job it is to protect Earth. Have you ever heard of Tony Stark?”

She laughs out loud, “You mean Iron Man? Yeah, of course. But he’s not really...magical, right? He’s smart and rich and has amazing resources...kind of a dick, too, from what I’ve heard.” She covers her mouth with one hand, embarrassed.

“Yes, I have heard the same...though I have not met him. Anyway, back to my point. Part of what I do is observe and monitor other dimensions and worlds. Indications are that something is building, something that may require my absence for an undisclosed amount of time. I would like for us to discuss what will happen to you in the event I would have to leave.” He leans forward, placing his fingertips together carefully, elbows on his knees. 

Jean sits up, worried. Just when things seemed to be going well for her, he was going to leave? 

He speaks carefully. “Jean, calm down. I have committed to your well-being, your training. I just want to know that if something comes up we have a plan, and we have discussed it, okay?” He checks his watch, a very expensive-looking watch in contrast with his plain gray robes and unassuming manner. “It is time for our session, meet you upstairs shortly?” He holds his hand out to her, this time she does not hesitate to take it, sensing only from him a mild worry for her, and an underlying tension he is keeping at bay.

A short time later, they are working through their usual routine, connection, meditation, yoga, tai chi. Then he has her focus on gathering the emotion and solidifying the mass. “Jean, have you ever tried pushing the darkness out of you? I believe it may serve you as a formidable weapon if you can harness and control it…”

She shakes her head, “No. No, I couldn’t. Stephen, the idea of pushing it out at someone else goes against everything I try to do, how I live. I am the vessel for other’s pain and suffering. I thought you understood that?” She is growing noticeably upset.

He brings her to their mats, gestures for her to sit. Facing the wall of mirrors, he asks her to watch and listen. He pulls a strange brass ring with unusual markings from an inner pocket of his gray robes, two rings side by side and slips it over the middle and first fingers of his right hand. “Jeannie, this is my sling ring, it helps harness my energy and focus it so I can conjure spells, protection and weapons.” He faces the mirror and begins moving his hands like he did the night before. He conjures a shield, and allows it to hang there, bright and sparking in the air in front of them. “And I understand how you feel, I do. But what if on the other side of that shield was a villain, a murderer, someone who wished to destroy the world as you knew it? Could you push it towards him…” She stands next to him, hands pulled in tight.

“I don’t know? I’ve never tried.” He stretches the shield with his gesturing hands, as if his long fingers were pulling and stretching at the edges until it covers the entire wall of mirrors, a glowing, sparkling wall of protection. 

Holding his right hand up to the wall-shield, maintaining the connection, he turns to her, holding out another ring, this one smaller and silver with multi-colored stones set in the top where it crosses two fingers. “Put it on, Jeannie, it is time to try. There is nothing here that you can hurt or damage.” She carefully takes the ring, looks into his eyes, finding only reassurance there. Placing the ring on her right hand, she looks at his hands and mimics his motions, right hand extended, left drawing circles in the air. He nods, “Good girl, Jeannie. Now, look beyond your hands, and try for a shield, visualize in your mind what you want to appear, and focus all your will upon it.” 

She does, she tries and tries, and...though she feels a new kind of energy flowing through her...nothing appears. He is kind and supportive, when she drops her head and gives up. With a flick of his hand, the wall shield disappears. He turns to her and says, “No. You are not allowed to give up. Not like that. You will keep trying. Practice everything we have been working on and keep trying. It did not come easy to me either, I got in my own way, with my big old brilliant brain. The Ancient One stranded me on Mt. Everest until I figured it out.”

Jean’s eyes go big and round, “Really? Please Stephen, I will practice...don’t do that to me…” she is laughing, though, imagining it. He watches her laugh, another small smile on those beautiful lips. 

He says, “Alright, you’ve worked hard this morning. I want you to try one more thing for me, okay? Time to be brave again, Jeannie.” He resumes moving his hands, reconstructs the wall shield over the mirrors. He moves so he is standing behind her, almost whispering in her ear. “Now, sweet girl,” his voice low and smooth, his breath tickling her ear. “Hands out, like you are pushing something away from you. Eyes open. Focus. Feel the mass. Feel the suffering. Aren’t you angry that there is so much suffering in the world? So much pain? Push it, Jeannie. Push it out through your hands, send it away, destroy it before it can hurt anyone else. Do it, eyes, Jeannie, concentrate! Come on, I know you can do it...push, Jeannie…” and he gasps, freezes in place as purple light emanates from her fingers, strings of glowing violet and lavender spiraling through the air, not in any controlled form or shape, like a sparkler a child gets to hold on the Fourth of July. “Yes, Jeannie, oh god, yes! Push, come on, more, how powerful you are!”

With one final push, more purple light strings, crashing into his orange shield and disappearing, she gasps for air and falls back, he catches her and they go down together. His shield drops as he holds her, cradles her, waits for her to come back…

She will be something this world has never seen.  
An unstoppable force for good.  
If he can keep her alive long enough.


	5. Scenarios

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean learns of the past, and an uncertain future...

When she comes to, Stephen is holding her across his lap, one strong arm behind her neck and bracing her arm, the other hand sweetly stroking her face as he speaks to her. “Oh Jeannie, that was brilliant. You amazing thing. Who knew you had such power within you? My brilliant girl, so strong. The world will never be the same.” His words float across her awareness, she feels warm and secure in his arms. Opening her eyes, he is holding her close, his gaze a bright burning blue as his fingertips trace her cheekbones. In that moment, neither speaks. A quietness falls over them, looking into each other’s eyes with no distractions, no outside influence. His hold on her tightens as she reaches up to cradle his face with her hands.

Pure joy rushes through her. Pride and protectiveness, and yes, something deeper. She gives him a little smile and pulls his head closer, he moves willingly to meet her. When their lips touch, she can feel purple and orange sparks flying through the air all around them, maybe just in her head? The softness of his lips against hers, warm breath ghosting across her cheek, the hairs around his mouth gently brushing her skin. At the same time they open to each other, and the kiss takes on a new direction, exploration, taste, need. For a long time, he holds her, there on the floor as they learn each other in this new, beautiful way.

They don’t speak for awhile, as the turn in their relationship settles in. They go downstairs and fix lunch, Wong is not around. As she prepares a salad, she hears the music again. “Stephen? Tell me about the music...do you have one of those wireless systems hidden somewhere in the building? I hear it at the strangest times…”

He finishes making their sandwiches and pours them each some iced tea. “Are you making fun of my name? It’s a spell, Jeannie.” He doesn’t meet her eyes. “When I brought you in I sensed a great deal about you, but had no idea how you would react to all…” He gestures randomly over his head, “...of this. I thought it might help to comfort you when you became uncertain.”

She turns to face him, “And is it triggered by my uncertainty?” He nods. “So you know when I’m feeling that way by when the music plays? That seems compassionate...and then a little bit invasive….” He meets her eyes. Nods again.

“I can terminate the spell, Jeannie, if it makes you uncomfortable. I don’t really use it to monitor you, it was intended to bring you peace.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she looks at him closely. “So I am feeling uncertain about what happened upstairs...the music plays...I guess we need to talk about it, yes?”

He stands tall, strong and proud as he faces her. “Yes, I think we do. There are many things we should talk about, before it is too late. Come, let’s take our food to the Atrium.” They balance plates and glasses as they climb the stairs to the open space where they first spoke. No coincidence there, she is sure. The music continues, and she finds she doesn’t mind because it does comfort her, and she trusts him. They sit, and watch the rain pour down the large windows.

Moving his plate to the side, meal half eaten, he turns towards her. “Jeannie, when I brought you in from the stoop, I told you I sensed many things about you...but I did not expect to...connect with you this way. I had hoped to offer you a place to recuperate, explore the possibility of developing your abilities...I had no idea you would be so strong, so powerful. And that your ability to read me, understand me, truly, would be so attractive. You were a mess when I brought you in, but now, look at you…” He gestures behind them to a large mirror. “You are gorgeous, healthy, sparkling…”

Jean blushes and looks down at her plate, which she has cleared of every crumb. “I’m going to be huge, the way I keep eating…” 

He says, “Don’t you see, though? It wouldn’t matter. I was a surgeon, Jeannie, a neurosurgeon. I lived all my life by science, fact, and practiced technique. It was so difficult to turn myself over to the mystical side of the world, but now I am there...no, I don’t want to frighten you, okay? But I see things too. This amulet around my neck? It contains a Time Stone, which can manipulate and distort the flow of time and space. I try not to look too far ahead unless I am ‘working’ you know? And people’s lives are at risk. Because knowing too much about the future makes life challenging. And though I am the Sorcerer Supreme, I am still human. Still a man.”

“Even without the Stone, I see things about you, feel things about us, possibilities that I absolutely did not anticipate when I carried you in here 10 days ago. I do not wish to overwhelm you, you must understand that you are free to choose at any time, to leave, to stay, whatever.” He speaks so eloquently, but she is impatient for him to get to the point.

“Stephen, let’s take the personal first. You kissed me, I mean, we kissed each other. And it was amazing. How are you feeling about that?” For the first time in her life, she feels brave, and strong, and whatever this is, they need to figure it out. Together. 

He drops his head into his hands. Takes a breath. Speaks down into the floor, “I am not an easy man, Jeannie. I have a job that is ridiculously dangerous, and time consuming, and important, I think.” He pauses and looks up at her, that bit of hair falling over his right eye as he pins her with his gaze. “You are the first woman since Christine that has shown me affection, and kindness. I treated her terribly and regret it shamefully. For starters I want to make sure I don’t do that to you. Jeannie, I think I could fall in love with you, and normally I would resist that because it is a weakness, something that could be exploited against me, and put you in danger. But watching you grow these past few days, and what happened, um, before the kiss? I think we might be powerful partners. Maybe. Someday.”

She pauses. He always surprises her with how ‘big picture’ he is, multiverse and dimensions, portals and spells...he doesn’t want to talk about a kiss. He wants to talk about their potential future. She smiles down at her hands, feeling a bit idiotic and much younger than her 34 years. “So,” she starts hesitantly, “you think we might have a future together...long term?” He nods. Takes her hands in his, looks into her eyes. She feels his loneliness, piercing through her, but then followed by his admiration, respect and attraction to her. It is her turn to nod, but she needs to challenge him as well. “You do know that you cannot lie to me, right, Stephen? Not because I am some wilting flower with hurt feelings, but because every time you touch me, I know. You are ready to be my partner, knowing that? Because I have never, ever found anyone who was okay with that…”

He scoots closer to her, still holding her hands. “Yes, Jeannie. I am. I know it sounds crazy, but yes. I have nothing to hide, and won’t be able to, from you. But I see bigger things than just us in a relationship...I see us, God, why is this so hard to say? I say the most ridiculous things to you, in the most serious ways, and you manage to keep believing me…

“Jeannie, I want you to study and train, develop your skills and become a powerful sorcerer. After this morning, and all your ‘purple fireworks’, I have no doubt you are capable. Then I want us to work together, live together, protect the world together...how’s that for a grand scheme?” He looks sheepish as he watches her expression. He forgets that he is still holding her hands...and she feels the truth of his words. It cannot be any other way. 

She looks into his eyes, gives him the tiniest nod and glances at his lips. A very tiny smile lifts the corners of his mouth as they move towards each other once again, so very slowly. Just before their lips touch, she breathes the words, “yes, together” and his soft warm lips press to hers. After a bit of that, they pull apart, leaning foreheads together and smiling. And then Wong enters the room.

He stands there, hands clasped behind his back. Staring out the window, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet. The three of them sit in silence for a moment, then Stephen breaks the quiet. “Wong, I am glad you are here. How did she do yesterday in training?” His voice is formal again, but he sends her a wink out of the side of his eye. 

Wong relaxes his stance and steps over to sit in a chair across from them. “I think she is a fast learner, and she doesn’t give up. With time, she will learn the skills she needs. Am I right to infer that you have both had some kind of breakthrough today?” Jean nods at him and answers.

“Yes, apparently, I produce purple fireworks, Wong, who knew?” She smiles at Stephen, who squeezes her hands again. Wong does not smile, she is pretty sure he has no sense of humor. Then again, she knows their work is very serious. 

Wong speaks again. “So now it is the three of us. Very good. Stephen, may I speak freely?” Strange nods. “The disturbances we’ve been monitoring, the frequency is increasing, there is much unrest in the lateral dimensions. 48 hours or less.”

“Until...what?” Jean is confused. Wong looks at her. His face is kind, but his words are stern. 

“You are not ready. And could be used as a weakness against Dr. Strange and myself. And any other... ‘allies’ we may associate with.” Jean feels frustration at his vague references and turns to Stephen for clarification.

He nods at Wong, then addresses her. “There is the possibility of conflict that could annihilate a good portion of the population, and I’m not speaking of Earth alone. The universal population, Jeannie. And it’s coming fast. There is no way we could train you fast enough, and if we don’t triumph, you may be lost to us anyway. So there is a contingency plan in place, should Wong or I be unable to continue with your training.”

“A contingency plan? What do you mean? I could just head back out there, I’ve been on my own for a long, long time.” She takes a deep breath, calming herself down. 

Wong speaks again. “Yes, but we are three now, sorcerers of the New York Sanctum. It is our duty to see to your training and safety, yes? Regardless of any personal relationship that may be developing…” He raises one eyebrow for a quick second, then the expression is gone. Jean smiles, her respect for him growing by the minute. 

Stephen takes it from there. “Remember the other night, when I had to take care of that slimeball, and Cloak helped you through the portal? When the moment arrives-”

Jean interrupts. “When? Not if?”

He shakes his head. “When. When the moment arrives, I will open a portal for you. You will walk through without question or hesitation, understand? It will take you to Kamar-taj, where Wong and I trained in the mountains of Tibet. Even there I cannot guarantee your safety, but you will be able to continue your training in relative safety. If the “situation” is resolved I will come to you as soon as I can, bring you back here and complete your training. If I cannot return to you, then you will be free to do as you please. And none of this is binding, other than when the time comes, I need you to step through, okay?”

“What if you can’t? Come get me?” Jean has pulled her hands in again, curled around herself. Stephen sighs when he sees it.

“There’s always the possibility that I may not survive any particular confrontation, that is an occupational hazard of being a sorcerer. Our second plan is to have Wong bring you back to New York. The third is for you to determine your own destiny...stay at Kamar-taj and continue your training, or leave and make your own way in the world. Of course, the first is that a short time after I send you through the portal I come for you myself. But in the event of a different outcome, we need to be aware of possible scenarios.”

“How will I know? How long do I wait for you?” Her voice is a strained whisper, she has forgotten Wong in still in the room. 

“I don’t have an answer for that, Jeannie. You will have to do what you think is right for you. I would hope you would complete your training. With or without me, you will be a formidable sorceress if you work and study. But there will be people there you can trust, who will offer you council...and they will be kind, even if they don’t like me very much.” He sends a pointed look at Wong, who nods.

Jean pulls her hands back, folds them in her lap, close to her belly. He sees it, recognizes it as her insecurity ‘tell’. The music plays once again, she looks at him with wide and shimmery eyes. “You’re saying after all this, that I could lose you forever in the next 48 hours?”

“Yes, Jeannie. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” The three of them sit in silence.

Later that evening, after another grueling session with Wong, a short rest and dinner alone, Jean makes a pot of tea and takes it to the library on a tray. She stands in the quiet room, alone with her thoughts. It is still raining, a cool chilly autumn rain outside, and for the first time in years she does not feel the need to head out into the city’s underbelly. Laying kindling and wood in the fireplace, she steps back and pulls out the ring he gave her. Knowing she is taking a risk, that she doesn’t even begin to understand her own powers, she decides to try anyway.

Slipping the ring over her fingers, she centers her focus, closing her eyes for a moment to bring forth the mass of suffering...wondering if she had expelled all her power earlier in the day. As she locates the mass, she knows. A lifetime of gathering, soaking in the loss of humanity, it is still there. Opening her eyes and stretching her hands out toward the fireplace, she directs the darkness to leave her body...the energy zings through her almost immediately, like now it has found a route to leave her it knows immediately. She lets it build, flow through her body, her eyes and mind relentlessly targeted on the fireplace. Starting with a soft purple glow, the madness exits her body, and this time, instead of random, spiral sparks, the light strings leave her hands in a direct line from her fingertips to the hearth. Holding, controlling, breathing through the action, the tinder catches, flames spark and the fire is lit. Pulling her fingers back into fists, closing her eyes, she pushes the dark mass back into a tight sphere, holding, controlling. She has successfully stopped the flow of energy. 

Looking at the fire, purple flames lick the larger pieces of wood and the smoke that rises is pure white. As the fuel catches, the fire transitions to a more traditional golden orange, with just tiny remnants of the purple starter flames, flicking around the bottom. 

Stepping back, she notices that she does not feel weak or faint, like the first time, but relieved, if a little tired. Pouring a cup of chamomile tea, she tucks herself into her favorite chair and gives herself over to a moment of pride, she accomplished a task with her new ‘powers’, controlled it, and managed her own reactions. 

In the soft evening quiet of the library, she sips her tea, gazes into the fire and thinks about the events of the day. The thought that their time together may be short makes her sad, but her sadness is short-lived. Two weeks ago, she didn’t even know Stephen Strange existed and he has offered her so much in this brief time together. He accepts her for who she is, brought her to peace and health, taught her to embrace her abilities. She knows without a doubt that she will do whatever he asks, for she has much to learn. Resolving to follow his directives, she will complete her training, follow it through as best she can, wherever he sends her. And if the possibility exists of fulfilling his goal, the two of them: partners, lovers, heroes even…

Facing the idea he may not make it through whatever is coming is profoundly sad, but Jean does not allow herself to shy away...he has taught her to be strong. She resolves that if he doesn’t come for her, she will become the greatest sorceress the world has ever seen, and spend the rest of her life working for humanity in honor of this amazing, caring man, Dr. Stephen Strange.


	6. Ignition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen and Jeannie's relationship deepens, and an unexpected visitor arrives.

The next morning dawns warm and sunny. Jean wakes early, looking forward to her routine and hoping Stephen will join her for breakfast. After her bath, she heads to the kitchen, lead by the familiar smell of rich coffee. Stephen is there already, he has scrambled eggs and bacon on the stove and she leans up against the counter, sipping her coffee and watching him work. He is dressed in casual clothes, all shades of soft blue. Faded jeans, old t-shirt, worn hoodie unzipped. For a moment, she could pretend it was all normal...that she had met a lovely man and they were in love and he was cooking her breakfast. She shakes her head, and he gives her a funny look. 

“Good morning,” she smiles with a little laugh. She wouldn’t want it to be ‘normal’, she knows. Her life has never been normal, and the thought of working together was very exciting. He plates their food and they sit down at the kitchen table. She tells him of her experiment with the fire the night before, he nods and doesn’t seem surprised. 

“I think you will find your powers and ability to control them will increase at an exponential rate. You have spent your entire life pulling in and controlling negative energy, a constructive outlet is going to strengthen all aspects of your gifts.” Pushing his plate back and wiping his mouth, he says, “Another cup of coffee in the library before we begin for the day?” She smiles at him and stands to gather their plates. As she rinses the dishes in the sink, she feels him behind her, hands lightly on her shoulders. She leans back into him, he kisses the top of her head gently.

“Good morning, Jeannie. My Jeannie.” 

Taking their mugs into the library, they sit together on a couch, angled toward one another. “Stephen, I did some thinking last night. I want you to know that I am looking forward to this...journey we’re on. The idea of working together towards a common good, learning from you, I feel like I’ve been dropped into utopia. Compared to how broken I was when you found me...I just want you to know.” She drops her head down to look into her coffee, watching the steam roll off the cup, feeling it warm her hands. 

He scoots closer to her, reaching up to run two fingers along her temple, brushing the hair out of the way, then tipping her chin up to look at him. He leans in to kiss her softly. “And I want to thank you, Jeannie, you are a shining beacon for me. I can’t wait to see what you will do and be. And until then, I just want to spend quiet moments like this with you. I find myself...calm and focused when I am with you.”

They sit quietly together, enjoying their coffee. Jean takes their empty mugs into the kitchen, rinses them and sets them in the sink. Up in the training room, Stephen is waiting for her, and they begin their work. The sun slants through the windows of the room, the quiet of the space interrupted only by their mutual breath as they stretch, move through various poses, working for strength and flexibility.

Seated close together, hands touching, Jean takes in his unrest regarding the coming conflict. Looking into his eyes, she is touched by the genuine affection she feels flowing from him, blanketed in warm feelings and a high level of respect. She feels him relax as she absorbs his negative thoughts and concerns. 

They stand, he conjures the shield over the glass once again. Pulling the dark mass inside into solidity, placing her double ring over her right hand, she conjures the purple light strings almost immediately. Today they are much more controlled, lines of light extending from her fingertips directly into her reflection in the wall of mirrors. Standing behind her, he coaches her with his voice, gentle hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “Alright, Jeannie, beautiful. Now, try to spin your energy into a shield...move your left hand in a circle and envision the lines weaving together in intricate designs, keep your right hand steady...that’s it. See the light moving, channel from deep inside, keep the flow consistent...there you go. Hold it, and build its strength. This shield can protect you from all kinds of airborne attack, but your concentration cannot waiver ...yes ...very good.”

Jean is surprised to find that it feels so easy, she increases the size of the shield, giving the light designs of looping swirls, spirals and concentric circles. The shield hangs in the air in front of her, it feels so solid. When he calls a halt, she takes a deep breath, pulls on the energy from her core and drops her hands carefully. The shield remains for a split second, then disappears like smoke. Stephen drops his protective shield and wraps her in his arms, “Look at you, Jeannie. Look at your face.” 

When she does she is shocked to find she is smiling widely, eyes sparkling. She sees in the mirror a strong and powerful woman, with the capability to protect and defend. She turns in his arms to embrace him, her gratitude overwhelming. He pulls her close, the quiet surrounds them as their heartbeats slow and synchronize, breathing in concert with one another. 

The mood is broken as Wong enters the room, “Stephen, it is time.” They reluctantly separate, as Stephen nods to him. 

Turning to Jean, he says, “We need to run to the bank, as our friend Wong here still has no concept of how American currency works. Please continue your practice, Jean, we should be back in time for lunch.” He gives Wong a pointed look, and Wong turns to leave the room while Stephen reaches for Jean again. Placing his hand around the back of her neck, he pulls her close, covering her lips with his, warm and soft. She runs her hands up his shoulders, feeling his strength under the soft cotton of his hoodie. His other hand holds her at the waist, pulling her up against him. Taking a few moments to just be together, their kiss is gentle and slow. Stepping back he releases her. “Back in a bit, Love.” He turns and follows Wong through the door.

As she returns to her work, practicing her defensive sequences, she hears their voices echoing as they descend the central stairway, bickering about the money, something about rupees and the tab at the local deli, when all hell breaks loose. A deafening crash followed by a deep boom, the roar of pain and rage, the screech of wood splintering and broken glass shattering and falling to the tile floors with sharp pings. Jean runs out of the training room to look down into the Sanctum’s entryway.

As she grabs the banister and her eyes make sense of what is below, she knows this is it. Something has crashed through the large glass dome and through the central stairway. That something is a much-larger-than usual man, who is green...of all things. He seems to be shrinking and his color changes before her eyes. Though she is three stories above him, she can see the panic in his eyes, flat on his back in the rubble.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Wong and Stephen rushing back up the stairs to look into the gaping hole where the man-thing lies. As they move, she sees that reddish blur surrounding Stephen and when it clears he is the Sorcerer Supreme, the Eye of Agamotto secure against his chest, Cloak swirling gracefully around his knees. Jean feels a sudden stab of nausea in her lower belly, and makes eye contact with Stephen as they hear the man utter, “Thanos…..is coming…” through ragged breaths. 

“Now, Jeannie.” His voice commands absolute cooperation, though she is queasy, and her knees are shaking. Jean quickly makes her way around the balustrade and down the stairs to stand beside the ruined staircase as Wong and Stephen help the man, now an average size and normal color, out of the basement and into the foyer.

When the four of them are standing there, regarding one another carefully, the new arrival says simply, “Thor sent me…my name is Dr. Bruce Banner.” Dr. Strange nods, and indicates that Wong should see to his injuries. He turns to Jeannie. Their eyes meet, filled with apprehension and dread, he holds out his hands to her, palms up. She shakes her head, refusing to believe it has to happen now, her hands shaking as she tries to find the courage to meet his expectations. 

“Jeannie.” He says softly. “Please. It has to be now.” His voice is so incredibly ragged, she realizes through her tears he is having just as difficult a time with this. Taking a deep breath, she places her hands on his, immediately absorbing his terror and sadness at having to send her away. For a moment all is still, and she thinks she cannot possible survive this...then his blue eyes lock with hers, and she finds her strength once again. Leaning into his hands, she pulls from him every last bit of regret and pain regarding her well-being, actively attempting to better prepare him for what comes. The less he worries about her, the stronger he will be, the more powerful his magic. 

He nods, a slight uptick at the corner of his lips, and pulls her in for a chaste kiss and quick embrace. Whispering in her ear, “As soon as I possibly can, my love. Do not doubt it. Now, go…” She turns to see Wong has conjured a portal, with her head held high, she nods to Wong and steps through. On the other side, she turns to look back. As the portal closes, she sees Stephen Strange touch two long fingers to his lips, then place his hand over his heart.


	7. Beacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working through her grief, Jeannie finds a new identity.

Jeannie watches him as the portal closes, he never breaks eye contact, hand over his heart. 

Pulling her hands to wrap around her waist, she begins to shake and crouches to the floor, trying to hold in the sobs that threatened. A quiet voice speaks in the empty room, “Welcome to Kamar-taj, Miss Jean, I wish it were under better circumstances though we are glad to have you here.”

Lifting her head, she sees a small, Asian man with dark brown skin and a thin mustache watching her from the other end of the room. The space is dark, what light there is looks golden and dust motes are floating through the beams of light. He speaks again, “Please stand, Miss. Master Strange expects you to be courageous at this time.” His words are softly spoken and kindly delivered, yet there is a strength of command behind them. She complies, dropping her hands to her sides, lifting her head. 

He walks towards her in small, even steps, his hands folded into his robes of dark, earthy brown. “I am Master Hamir, and I will continue your training. Please join me for a cup of tea?” Jeannie nods, and follows him to a low table, watches him using only his right hand to prepare the drink. Handing her a small, chipped china cup, they sip in the quiet. She notices the louvered shutters over window openings, hears the faint sounds of activity in the streets below...voices, wheels over rough surfaces, the clatter of wooden crates and a soft background of mellow chimes. 

He watches her through small, dark eyes. “He came to see me two days ago. You need not fear, Miss, you will be safe here, and we will continue the work that Masters Strange and Wong have begun.”

She speaks for the first time since arriving, trying to keep her voice from trembling, “Thank you, Master Hamir. I...did he tell you about me? What I can do?”

He nods, carefully setting his teacup down on the table. He pulls his left arm from where it has remained hidden in the folds of his robes and reaches it out to her, showing the smooth skin covering the nub of his wrist bones. Holding out his right hand as well, he nods to her yet again, and she knows he has talked to Stephen. She extends her hands to touch his right palm, lined and nut-brown, and cradles the stump of his missing hand gently with her palm. Keeping eye contact as Stephen has taught her, she immediately feels a peace washing over her, peace and calm. Warm waves of comfort and safety emanate from Master Hamir. There is no artifice here, the only negative emotions transferring to her include an amorphous fear of unknown events and pressures of responsibilities. 

She looks at him intently, and pulls on the fear and pressure, hoping to relieve some of his anxiety. When they break contact, he gives her a tiny smile. “Yes, Miss, Master Strange was right about you. Will you show me what you have accomplished so far in your training?” She nods and they stand. Facing away from him, slipping her sling ring from her pocket, she pulls in the dark mass, solid and hard within her. Placing her hands in position, she conjures her shield, bright and sparking with violet light. Using all her focus and concentration, she stretches the shield, like Stephen did in their training room, manipulates its shape and placement. Pulling her energy back into herself, she watches her shield disintegrate. “Beautiful. Anything else?” 

Jean pulls her hands back to hug herself, then remembers to stand tall and lowers them to her sides. “I lit a fire...but that is all. I have much to learn.” He nods. 

Over the next few hours, Jean is shown her room, and given a schedule, regulated by chimes throughout the day. There are many others at Kamar-taj, but though people seem kind and smile softly, there isn’t much communication. She wonders if this is because of a language barrier or the monastery-like environment. The shadowy halls and rooms seem like a maze as she wanders and familiarizes herself with her new surroundings. She already misses the clear light and homey feel of the New York Sanctum, though she was only there a short time. 

In the courtyard that afternoon, she joins with about 20 other novices to train. This session is self-defense, and Hamir and two other masters, Tenzin and Sonam, divide the group into levels. Jean is placed with the beginners, as she has had only a few days with Wong. They work blocking sequences, and she sees and feels the similarities with Wong’s approach. She concentrates hard, working her body and distracting her mind, finding a particular phrase repeating, a mantra for her. 

“Be a strong, powerful Beacon, Jeannie.”

Repeating these words in her head, she pushes her body into near exhaustion. She knows that part of her is desperately trying not to descend into hopelessness and loss. After a simple meal, she visits the library, where she is given several texts to read. The librarian, Mistress Tinley, shows her how to use the library’s systems and gives her a reading list to work through. 

Later, alone in her room, she tries to sleep. Her body is tired, but her mind spins. She visualizes Stephen’s face, wishing there was some way to send him strength, to support him in his efforts. Frustrated by her limited abilities, sad and alone, she rises from her bed, dresses quickly and does what she always does. Goes in search of those who need help. 

48 hours pass, and Jean is settling into the rhythms of daily life at Kamar-taj. Mornings spent conjuring...shields, weapons, spells. Afternoons in physical exercise with the other novices, learning self-defense, martial arts...strengthening her body and mind. Evenings in study and meditation, reading and expanding her knowledge and consciousness. Late nights walking the village streets, she familiarizes herself with the area, finding those who need relief from pain and suffering. Laying her hands on bodies young and old, drawing in their darkness, helping them and fueling her power at the same time. 

She sleeps little, but feels strong and energized. When her worry and fear for Stephen threatens to crumple her, she repeats her mantra and redoubles her efforts. On a quiet Thursday afternoon, she is in the courtyard, her group has graduated from blocking sequences into strike attacks, she runs the pattern over and over...head, chest, knee, lateral kick...the only sounds the huff of heavy breathing, soft grunts of effort as they work. Hushed words from the Masters, correcting posture, form and aim. 

Loud cries erupt from inside the building, all the students stop their work at the disruption. Mistress Sonam holds up one hand to settle them, then looks at her hand in surprise as the limb begins to disintegrate, slowly at first, then picking up speed until her whole being disappears...sounds of disbelief throughout the courtyard, then it starts to affect more people. Jean watches as realization dawns, and she is surrounded by her fellow students, looks of terror as they feel it hit them, and their bodies fly apart...so quietly, so quickly. 

Jean bursts into action, touching others, taking their pain, shock and surprise into herself...some disintegrate under her hands, others stayed, but were overwhelmed by loss and grief, for their friends and colleagues. It was over in minutes...and they were half. 

Jean helps Master Tenzin gather the remaining students together, they move into the building to congregate in the large open space where Jean first met Master Hamir. He has survived the Event, as they will come to call it. Many did not. Mistress Tinley is gone, as well as Masters Thubten and Lobsang. Hamir holds up his right hand, gesturing for quiet, as the remaining students and Masters sit together on the floor. Jean stands in the back, knowing she is one of the few in the room that has any idea of what just happened...and she knows so little, herself. 

When Hamir speaks, his voice is quiet and sad. “Brothers and Sisters of Kamar-taj. The Event we just experienced is tragic and world-changing. As sorcerer’s of the mystic arts, we must prepare ourselves for dark days ahead. This event was foretold to me just recently by one of our own, Master Strange, Sorcerer Supreme and Guardian of the New York Sanctum. He came here to forewarn us of the danger, though he was quite candid about the fact that if it happened there was nothing to be done. He insisted that our job after the occurrence of the Event would be to continue our study and learning, outreach into the communities for there will be much suffering,” Hamir pointedly looked at Jean in this moment. Then he continued, “And finally, we will need to recruit others, build our ranks once again. He wished for me to share with you that if this were to happen, it is on a universal scale, affecting all conscious beings in the multiverse, and the entirety of Earth. He assured me that he would work tirelessly with fellow sorcerers and Earth’s finest heroes to try to prevent it, or deal with the aftermath.”

Jean realizes she has balled her hands into fists and is curled over, clutching her middle...her typical defensive posture. She is feeling her own pain and uncertainty, piled onto that of the others she holds inside. She needs...something, do something...can’t stand here anymore...she runs from the room, down the stairs and out into the streets. 

The narrow lanes of the village are eerily silent. People stand like statues, uncertain and confused. She walks and walks, knowing there is no way she will know if Stephen has survived...she wants to devise a way for them to connect, to communicate across the distance. She walks the length of the village twice, up and down each cross street, comes to a halt where the buildings are spread out over the hillside, the green of mountainside pastures calling to her. She walks, breathes, repeats “Be a strong, powerful Beacon of Light...Be a strong, powerful Beacon of Light…”

Ideas and images form in her head, as the path she walks becomes narrower, and she heads up, up into the higher elevations. Far away from the village, she finds a sharp outcrop of rock to sit and rest. Looking down over the valley, she can see the rooftop of Kamar-taj...knows she needs to make a decision. To stay? Or walk away into an uncertain and damaged world? How can she best be of service? Somehow, deep inside her, she knows that Stephen is gone…

Slipping into a deep meditative state, she relives her life to this point. Without planning or purpose, her hands begin to move and conjure her purple shield. Her eyes are closed, her consciousness far away, but her shield shines brightly, several shades of purple, lilac, violet and lavender. It stretches and moves, until it forms a sphere around her, warming her in the cold Tibetan night. As darkness falls over the village, the people of the town notice the shining beacon far up the hillside, brighter and brighter. They stand together in the streets, at first shaking with fear, not knowing if the unusual sight was friend or foe.

Jeannie stands, her sphere/shield growing with her. She speaks softly to herself, unaware that her magic amplifies her words to be heard by each and every living soul remaining in the village below. “Don’t be afraid...I will allow no harm to come to you. Give me your suffering, your pain and loss...and let me protect you. Feel the peace descend upon you, together we will rebuild.” She opens her eyes, her hands still moving in complicated gestures she doesn’t know that she knew….she lifts them slowly and looks up into the starry, cold mountain night.

The shining ball of amethyst light rises up into the air, expands and lifts over the village, as she stands on the high rocky cliff, and hangs briefly in the air before bursting into a million pieces and raining down gently upon the village. Young and old are mesmerized by the sight, and as the fragments of purple light fade and descend upon them, they do feel...better. Comforted, somehow. The pain of losing so many, so quickly is not gone, but cushioned by the hope and belief that they will survive. And rebuild. And carry on. 

In the quiet aftermath of this moment, they hear her whisper yet again. Soft, soothing, sweet and protective.

“I am the Genie. I will protect you.”


	8. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genie meets Wong and receives her first relic and finds a mysterious old woman.

Twelve hours after the Event, Wong steps through a portal to stand in front of her. His face crumpled with sadness, he holds his hands out to her. For the first time they touch, and she is nearly destroyed by his pain. There is much suffering in his past, that he has lived with every day, but she has to look beyond that. To the loss of Stephen. He is gone. Broken into the smallest bits and blown away like dust. 

Palm to palm, they mourn together, sinking to their knees with the loss of the Sorcerer Supreme, his friend and colleague, her mentor and...lover? She feels that kind of connection with him, though they have not agreed on labels or names for their relationship. Allowing waves of grief to crash over her, she sobs and lets the tears come, pulling back from Wong and into herself. He sits, palms down on his legs, head bowed as they each experience their own inner pain.

She calms after awhile and moves to face him, holding her hands out to him once again. He says, “You are sure, Miss Jean?” 

She nods. “Yes. Absolutely. And Wong, you can call me Genie now.” He nods and places his hands over hers. They stand together as she draws his pain away, she actively pulls on every shred of shame and regret, and he carries a great deal...he believes he has failed to protect Stephen...and he feels inadequate to run the New York Sanctum alone. She pulls on the pain and loss, the insecurity and remorse. Feeling him relax a little, she breaks their connection, pulls out her sling ring and conjures a shield over him, at first flat over his head, then curving down around the edges like an umbrella. It spins and throws off drops of plum and burgundy light that disappear as they descend over Wong, she feels him calm and strengthen, he stands up straight with new resolve. Dragging her magic back into her body, her hands fall to her sides as she meets his eyes.

“Ah, Genie. He would be so proud. Thank you.” Wong speaks quietly. “Have you decided what you wish to do…?” 

She nods, making herself stand tall, hands resting at her sides. “I will stay here for the time being. I have committed my protection to these people as I continue to study and learn. I wish to make him proud...if I can. I may return to you in New York at some point, but there is much to do here.”

Wong reaches deep into his robes, retrieving a small leather-bound volume in a rich, dark purple. Holding it out to her, when she touches it she feels...warmth and energy. Taking it from his hands, running her fingertips over the embossed gold lettering in Sanskrit, she can feel it’s magic vibrating through her. Looking up at him with questions in her eyes, he speaks again.

“Your first relic, Genie. The Tome of Thokmey Dhargey, or the Book of Unhindered Progress. Something led me to bring this to you, though I am unsure of how you will use it. You will need to carry it with you and explore its powers.” 

Genie pulls it close to her, wrapping both hands around it, liking the feel of it in her hands. “Thank you, Wong. Is there a way for us to communicate, other than visiting through a portal? I would like to keep you informed of my progress, as well as come to you if you feel I can be of assistance…”

He nods, “Let Master Hamir know and we can arrange something. I must be going as the Sanctum is unguarded at the moment, though I am expecting...guests shortly. The heroes of Earth have decided to congregate at the Sanctum to discuss what happens next. I expect it will be an exercise in frustration, but it will be…”

“...what it will be.” She finishes for him. She holds up her hand, like she’s expecting a high-five, he touches his palm to hers, they hold eye contact for a long moment, then he turns, conjures a portal, steps through...and he is gone.

The days pass in quiet, focused work. Genie pushes herself physically and mentally while trying hard to control her own emotional condition. Time before and after training sessions she spends in the village, her visits taking on a new dimension. Where before she would slip through the darkness unnoticed, now she visits on the street, in the homes of the villagers, in the schools and hospitals. Asking questions, learning customs and culture, she does what she can for the community. 

Each day on her return to Kamar-taj she encounters the same old woman, always in a slightly different location but noticeable enough to mark Genie’s attention. After several days of seeing her, Genie moves to greet her, giving the traditional respectful greeting, “Tashi delek, honorable one.” The old woman smiles slightly and pats the space next to her on an ornate rug. Genie sits with her and quietly they watch people move about the village. The woman picks up a basket next to her and pulls from it a rich purple fabric, and some sewing implements. Though her fingers are small and wrinkled, the skin has that papery consistency of the elderly, her digits are nimble and dexterous.

Genie has learned patience, and she does not question why she has been led to sit with the old woman. She watches her work the fabric, her needle flashing as she plies the thread. When Genie’s mind turns to Stephen, she straightens her posture, turns her hands palm up on her bent knees and slips into meditation, comforted by the sounds of the village and soft breathing of the old woman next to her. After a time, her concentration is broken gently, by the soft touch of fabric in her hand. When she opens her eyes, the old woman is gone, but she has left the cloth with Genie. Holding it up, it seems a sort of scarf or sash, in richly colored strips of silk and cotton, like a quilt but light as air and shimmery like water. Worked into the seams there are small sparkling beads in amethyst, silver, magenta and plum. It is a beautiful piece of workmanship, Genie holds it tightly in one hand as she returns to Kamar-taj for the evening meal and study session.

Much later that night, in the dim light of her room, she holds the sash, running it through her fingers. Taking a closer look, she sees it is many irregularly shaped strips of silk and other fabrics; cotton, velvet, tulle, satin. Each piece is sewn together, quilt-like with lines of beads and gems worked into the seams. A beautiful blend of workmanship and economy, each piece in a varied shade of purple that has come to represent Genie and her powers. With two notable exceptions. At each end of the sash is a piece of cloth that does not fit the color scheme, or the shape, almost like a hem-piece. One end is a thick, patterned brocade in a rich, dark red...the other is a sturdy, canvas-like piece in deep blue. These two parts mark the ends of the sash, with bead-work fringe trailing from the edges.

Pulling the two ends together, examining them more carefully, Genie is overwhelmed with realization. His clothes, blue. His cloak, red. She holds them to her face as the tears fall, covering her eyes with the ends of the sash, her tears soak the fabric as she grieves. Feeling a tug and gentle pull on the fabric in her hands, her eyes, red-rimmed and wet from crying, snap open, wondering who would dare to interrupt her private mourning...but there is no one. The sash is moving under her fingers, swirling around to wrap around her shoulders, giving off a warmth and comfort...she lets go of the ends and it settles upon her, wrapping her tightly. 

The end pieces fit themselves back into her palms, she lays back onto the bed and is immediately drawn into a deep and comforting sleep. She dreams of resting in his arms, surrounded by his warmth, and strength, and love.


	9. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genie goes on her first mission, and meets a special child.

The days and weeks turn slowly into months. Genie works and studies, not allowing herself to grieve or give up. She has focused her studies on the Five Hindrances, believing this knowledge may unlock the powers of the Tome of Thokmey Dhargey. Applying herself to live by the principles of ‘unhindered progress’, she strives to implement and work on each of the five areas:  
Sensory desire (kāmacchanda): wanting that seeks for happiness through the five senses of sight, sound, smell, taste and physical feeling.  
Ill-will (vyāpāda; also spelled byāpāda): thought related to wanting to reject; feelings of hostility, resentment, hatred and bitterness.  
Sloth-and-torpor (thīna-middha): heaviness of body and dullness of mind which drag one down into disabling inertia and thick depression.  
Restlessness-and-worry (uddhacca-kukkucca): the inability to calm the mind.  
Doubt (vicikicchā): lack of conviction or trust.

The first two are the least challenging for her, as she has long lived in a way that minimizes material needs, though her short time with Stephen did allow her physical comfort and luxury that she misses on the hardest days. The second hindrance, ill-will, is the easiest for her. She always wanted to help, and finds it difficult in her training to improve at offensive attack methods. She does, however, excel far beyond her fellow students at defensive and healing magic. Just this morning she was able to use her powers to create magical barriers between forces, pushing them apart, protecting and shielding. Master Hamir graced her with a small nod and smile at her efforts, which she has noticed is about the only level of praise offered at Kamar-taj. The usual response from any of the instructors was a quick nod and they were on to the next challenge. 

The third hindrance she feels some ambivalence about, knowing more than most how trauma and pain can cycle in upon itself leading to the same disabling inertia and depression. But Genie also acknowledges the importance of feeding the mind, body and spirit with healthy, appropriate fuel and activity. Thinking back on how Stephen found her, cold and dirty, lost and alone on the streets. And now, though he is not here, she works every day to fight the darkness that threatens... to make him proud, to make a difference.

The night has grown dark and quiet, the oil lamp burning low and dim. Genie splays her hands wide over the pages of the book, closing her eyes and calming her breath. Slipping into a peaceful meditative state, her mind pondering the last two hindrances, worry and doubt. In her mind, his words a mantra.

Be a beacon…  
Be a beacon…  
Be a beacon…

...a beacon of light.  
...a beacon of warmth.  
...a beacon of safety. 

And softly, gently...there is a tingling sensation in her fingers, pressed lightly against the ancient pages, a warmth, flowing though her palms, up her arms to shoulders, neck and chest, energizing her from within. Whispered words float around her physical space. She knows. Knows it is his voice.

“My Genie...so strong...look at how powerful you are becoming...stand fast...work hard...not as far away as you think...love my beautiful Genie…” and the low, resonant voice drifts away.

Genie wakes the next morning, once again wrapped in her sash, the end pieces drawn up by her cheek, wrapped snugly around hands that ache no longer. She feels refreshed, though uncertain, thinking maybe she had fallen asleep during her late night study and meditation. But though she cannot recall the specifics, she knows his calming presence...reached out to her. A small smile crosses her face, interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Beckoning the apprentice to enter, Genie is told of a summons to Master Hamir’s private study. The apprentice hands her a large parcel before departing, and leaves silently. Placing the package on her narrow bed, she unties the twine straps to uncover new robes, these in a deep plummy shade. Genie dresses quickly, wrapping and tying her sash securely around her middle and sliding the book into one of its folds. Before leaving her room, something makes her look around, some strange sort of departure...something is coming. 

Arriving to meet with Master Hamir, Genie is beckoned in to find Wong and Hamir calmly seated at the low tea table. “Mistress Genie, thank you for joining us. Sit, please. Tea?” Hamir’s voice is modulated and smooth, as always, showing no emotion. Genie wants to run and hug Wong, but senses the seriousness of this meeting, and sits quietly. Wong reaches out his hands and nods, she takes them, immediately taking in his exhaustion and concern. And yet she also feels his admiration...and a need. 

“Your new robes suit you, Genie.” Wong is placid, as always. Hamir pours them tea and the quiet unfolds.

They sip and breath in the quiet, once again Genie notices the golden light of the room, the dust motes floating through rays entering the slats covering the windows. There seems to be something of the meditative state descending upon the three of them, their breath coming slower, their minds calming. 

Hamir speaks, slow and measured. “Genie has worked very hard these past few months and her skills are formidable. She still hesitates with offensive actions, but her urge to protect and save is strong, quite possibly the strongest I have seen. She still needs to learn dimensional movement and how to conjure portals. Therefore, I have asked you here, Wong, to accompany her on her first mission.” Genie startles. A mission? No...wait, she can’t possibly be ready. Her breathing rapidly increases, her eyes darting back and forth between the two men. Noticing her reaction, Hamir holds out his hand and arm to her. She takes a deep breath and reaches out to him.

Calmness and purpose flows into her at his touch. Still connected, he begins speaking. “Mistress Genie, the universe needs you to find a young girl who struggles with a power she does not understand. You will find her in the Canadian wilderness, separated from society by the fear of her own capabilities. Find her, heal her. You will know what to do. Keep your eyes and heart open, remember your teachings. Wong will travel with you and assist in any way he can.”

Hamir breaks their contact, Genie is still, knowing her questions won’t be answered. But in his touch she felt his sincerity, his sureness that she is the best equipped to complete this task. Underlying his words were purposeful hints at additional outcomes. She smiles at his faith in her. She nods, and the three of them stand. Wong opens a portal and they step through, finding themselves high up on a mountainside. 

The air is crisp and cold, the early autumn winds whipping about the steep incline. She and Wong say nothing, simply taking in the rugged mountain views. Over and through the wind, Genie becomes aware of a keening, a lost and moaning sound coming from around the next bend. “This way,” she directs Wong and they start down the narrow trail. 

Following the sound, they come to a rocky outcropping with a shallow cave behind. The closer they come, the intensity of the wailing increases, rising to a scream of wordless pain. Genie signals Wong to hang back as she moves forward to investigate. Stepping onto the rocky ledge, she slips her sling ring on her right hand as flames shoot out from the hidden cave, causing her to lose her balance and fall to her knees. 

The voice is relentless and recognizable words filter through the screams…”Go ...keep away...must not be here…” a few scrubby trees near where Genie kneels burst into flames, white hot and scorching. Genie stays down, using her ring to conjure a shield from the heat. The purple lines form a barrier and she speaks as she rises back to her feet and approaches the opening in the mountainside. 

“I am the Genie...I will not hurt you…” small steps forward, she notices scorch marks black and burned all over the hillside. Holding her hands out, small and concentrated movements, soft and encouraging voice. “Let me see you, little one...I can feel your pain…” and the flames increase, the screaming builds. Genie cannot see the child, even without touching she can sense the anger and helplessness flowing off the unseen being. Moving forward slowly, steady and calm, her shield protecting her as the white hot flames swirl and dance around her. “Come now, let me help you...I mean no harm…”

The roaring of the fire surrounds her, a stray thought for Wong’s safety and she pushes forward once again. The inferno builds, a whining noise of stress and crackling heat...smoke billowing and swirling as everything burns. Genie stops, pulling on the darkness inside her to increase her shield, creating not a barrier, but a blanket, that rises and expands, then floats silently down upon the flames, extinguishing them with a soft hiss and echoing silence.

Rounding the rock edge, Genie sees the child, a young girl, maybe ten years old? Curled in upon herself, heaving with sobs and pale face streaked with tears. Pulling on her magic, she directs the purple light to gently drape over the child, calming and cooling, settling and soothing. The lines and swirls turn a soft lilac and dissolve into soft drop-like shapes, descending and disappearing. 

Genie sits cross-legged in the cave opening, allowing the child to compose herself. Sitting up, Genie is startled by the tragic beauty of the girl before her. Pale, almost translucent skin blotchy with tears and ragged with emotion. Long vibrant red hair and arresting eyes of a golden hue. 

A small voice, ragged from exertion whispers across the rock floor. “Who...are you?” Genie rests at the entrance to the cave, lowering her hands slowly to her lap. 

“I am the Genie, or you can call me Jean. I am someone who knows how it feels when everything just hurts too much.” She waits quietly for the child to collect herself. “What is your name, little one?” 

The girl sits up, wrapping thin arms around legs covered in dirty jeans, ducking her head to wipe the tears and mucus from her face. “My parents called me Harlie, but others call me ‘The Burner’.” The girl lifts her face and Genie is startled by the raw hatred and desperation she sees there. “You should go, Genie. I don’t think I want to hurt you, but I might if I get angry. And I’m so angry all the time.”

The quiet stretches between them. Genie turns her palms up and closes her eyes, her breathing slows as she concentrates, knowing what she will ask next may cause her to go up in flames. “Harlie, I may be able to help you. Do you believe that I am here to help?” She opens her eyes in time to see the girl nod slightly. “Place your hands on mine when you are ready...or we could talk some more if you’d like.” Closing her eyes again, she wills herself calm and nonthreatening. Meditative phrases swirling through her mind, her breathing calms and slows, everything about her is still and peaceful. 

The voice, when it comes, is soft and high-pitched. There is no contact, yet. Genie stays still and calm. Harlie speaks. 

“They took me away. They hurt my Mom and Dad. Mom is gone, they killed her. Or they would have, I’m sure, but she turned to dust with the others. Dad is...I’m not sure, but I know they have him, hurting him to get to me. Everyone I have ever known has turned me in...this is the only place. Where I can’t hurt them...unless they try to get to me…”

Silence spins out between them. Genie hears movement, the girl has moved closer.

“I don’t know you. But I don’t want to hurt you. What you did there...the light, the...it’s like it softened the heat inside me. I just want to burn everything sometimes. Everyone and everything. Because I will never be normal...other kids, living with their parents in a nice, snug house, not burning like this...why? Why?!” Genie feels the temperature in the cave is rising along with the girls emotions. Without opening her eyes, Genie moves her hands, slowly, delicately…

Genie has conjured a soft purple glow in the room, it wavers, like the flicker of a candle, though there is no source. Darkness has fallen outside the cave, and the low lavender light pulses in a soothing way, meeting the girl’s heat and bringing the temperature down. Opening her eyes, Genie watches the girl, Harlie has relaxed her tensed posture and sits up, looking around the cave, her strange golden eyes open wide as she looks around. “How...what are you doing?”

Genie smiles gently at the child. “All of us have darkness within us, Harlie. It’s what we decide to do with it that matters.” Harlie’s eyes focus on Genie’s hands, still moving, carefully conjuring the soothing light. 

Some minutes pass, the quiet of the night folds in around them. When Genie senses the child’s calmness, she slows her hands, letting the glow fade, leaving them in darkness. They sit quietly together, the only sounds their soft breaths and a muted sort of shuffling as Harlie moves closer. Without words, Genie holds out her hands, ready to receive if Harlie is willing...when the touch comes, the images and feelings are explosive.

Darkness is shattered with blinding light, flames and screaming. Tear-streaked faces and burning injuries. Buildings alight, the torturous squeal of super-heated metal structures collapsing. Smoke so thick breathing is impossible. Eyes tearing and stinging, burning from the inside and out. Heart breaking as they are pulled from her, fear and sadness in their eyes. Rage and blistering pain rising up within, escaping with more flames, endless searing heat, boiling and blistering and blackening…

Genie pulls. Using all her strength, all her power she pulls hard on the pain and suffering of this one little girl. It hurts her to do so, it’s so intense, so much, more than any normal human could be expected to bear...but she pulls, takes it in, more and more until the inferno collapses, the flames subside, and ash falls silently over the dark internal landscape of The Burner.

A short time later, Genie exits the cave with the unconscious child in her arms to find Wong waiting. Without words he opens a portal, taking them back to Kamar-taj. Harlie is swept away to be cared for, just before The Genie collapses, she hears the child’s last words. 

“Somehow, you temper my heat. Take me with you.”


	10. Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A message from beyond, and a change in status.

Feeling tired and worn from the day’s work, Genie splashes cold water on her face then lifts her eyes to look into the mirror. Shocked by what she is seeing, it is as if the experience with Harlie has aged her. There are defining lines around her eyes and mouth, and her black hair has gone silver at the temples. The rest remains thick and glossy, just touching her shoulders after the hasty cut she gave it, now seven months ago. Seven months. Genie straightens, meets her own eyes, once gray and timid, now she swears there is a tinge of lilac to the color. Probably just her new robes, her eyes always did seem to shift and vary in color. Just like his...her hand flies to cover the gasp of her open mouth as realization hits. The gray in her hair, the lines in her face, the changing eye color...oh Stephen! She doubles over with the pain of his loss. 

Allowing herself only a short moment to grieve, the tears sting, hot and wet down her cheeks. Her heart feels like it is breaking open, she misses him so. Lifting the ends of her sash to blot away the tears, she takes a deep breath and looks again into the mirror. Stand tall. Be strong. You still have much to learn, Genie. 

Checking in on Harlie, she finds the girl has had a bath, dressed in clean gray robes and there are remnants of a meal on the desk. She seems to be sleeping peacefully, Genie is glad that the girl has been placed in the room adjacent to hers. Softly she lays a hand over Harlie’s forehead, noting the warmth, Genie smiles. If the child can learn to harness her powers, she too could be a powerful sorceress. 

Closing the door quietly behind her, she finds Hamir waiting in the hall, arms crossed over his small body, hand hidden in the folds of his robes. With a slight nod, he speaks quietly. “Welcome back, Mistress Genie, the child is settled?” Genie nods and mirrors his posture. He gives a soft, tiny smile. “Well, then, ‘two birds with one stone’, I believe is the saying...you should rest now. More training tomorrow.” With a small bow he makes his way down the darkened corridor.

Just before lying down to sleep, Genie sits cross-legged on her bed, her small hands splayed across the pages of the Tome, eyes closed in meditative peacefulness. She feels exhaustion dragging her down, and yet the ancient pages of the book make her palms tingle with energy and warmth. And somewhere, between sleep and wakefulness, his voice is with her.

“Oh my Genie. What a miracle you are. So strong, so powerful. I am so very proud of you, my love. Do not weep for me...I am here. Though not with you. I cannot explain just yet, know that I feel your presence in the multiverse, you trip the strands of my awareness like a spider delicately navigating its web. Be well, work hard. My unstoppable force for good, my Genie.”

Genie wakes the next morning, her sash gathered tightly around her, feeling strong and powerful. She goes about her day, training, studying, spending time with Harlie as she acclimates to life at Kamar-taj. Several days pass before she notices. The other apprentices look at her differently, address her as ‘Mistress’. Master Hamir and the other remaining elders treat her with a new respect. She is being included in meetings and given opportunities to work with the youngest new members of their community. 

Somehow, without her awareness, she is no longer an apprentice. Without ceremony or announcement she has become. 

Sorceress.


	11. Challenge

Time passes. Months turn into years. Genie has honed her skills, now able to strike and attack when necessary, though she will always prefer to use her powers to help and protect. She now travels effortlessly through her own spinning purple portals, going where she is needed. Her specialty seems to be rescuing gifted young people from dire circumstances, similar to the work she did with Harlie, and now she has a group of eight apprentices. Her days are filled with practice and teaching and study, and though she is calm and confident, she misses him every day.

Harlie has blossomed into a powerful young woman. At the age of thirteen, she is always found close by Genie’s side. She sometimes struggles to control her powers, and certainly the hormonal ravages of puberty don’t help. But she seems to understand her success lies in trusting the Genie to help her cool down, both literally and figuratively. 

One warm evening, almost four years after the Event, Genie is in the library with her group. They are having a study session, reviewing the history of Kamar-taj and its sorcerers. Dani, an eight year old from Israel with a talent for telekinesis, and Raj from India, argue over the treatment of those with special abilities over the ages. Genie sits back to watch the interchange, listening to Raj calmly defend the brutal treatment of witches in the Middle Ages. She can hear them apply their recent lessons in the discussion, while others around the table scramble to find evidence in the multitude of texts on the table to back up or disprove their claims. When Master Hamir steps quietly into the room, Genie nods to him, inviting him to observe their work. 

Master Hamir watches the apprentices, and Genie. He is proud of what she has accomplished, and after a few moments, waves his right hand smoothly over the table. At once the open books close and stack themselves neatly in the middle of the large table. His voice is soft, but commanding. “Gongto delek, Young ones. It warms me to see you working so hard.” All the students sit up straight, fold their hands in their laps and bow their heads in recognition of the compliment. Genie smiles, they have learned their lessons of deference and respect well, though she sees a few smiles among the less disciplined. Hamir continues. “I have a challenge for you, research, if you will. At this time I need to speak with your Mistress, you are dismissed to your chambers for the night.”

As the children file out, Harlie lingers as she usually does. Hamir indicates for her to sit. “You may stay, Miss Harlie, as it is my assumption that you will accompany the Genie when this project moves from research to action.” Harlie’s mouth falls open, her wide-set golden eyes open in shock. At a look from Genie, she snaps her mouth closed and sits, schooling her expression into one of patience and interest. 

Hamir sits with them and tells them of disappearances from the Hong Kong Sanctum. Several sorcerers have vanished, some on missions, others going about their daily business. Hamir wishes to have Genie’s apprentice group research the missing individuals, their past history, their work, their associations. Hamir surprises Genie when he announces that 10 brand new laptops will be delivered to Kamar-taj in the morning to assist with their work. “It could be you could solve this mystery on research alone, I am hoping so. If not, Genie, you will travel to investigate if necessary. Yes, Miss Harlie, you will accompany her. I will send down the relevant documents in the morning.” He holds out his hand and arm to Genie, she faces him and touches him gently. 

Over the years, they have developed the practice of ending each of their meetings with this closure. Genie sees, feels, and pulls...Hamir is strengthened by her powers, Genie is reassured by his trust in her. When the door clicks softly behind him, she hears Harlie gasp. “Really? I’m not ready for a mission, Genie...what if I...oh God, I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Her eyes shine up at her mentor. Genie places her small hand over Harlie’s on the dark wood of the study table. 

“Hamir would not permit it if he didn’t think you were ready. Besides, I am the one who hesitates when there are dangerous situations. I think he sees you as my guardian...my protector. Think you are ready for that?” Genie gives Harlie a small smile. She knows the girl is ready, and using her dangerous powers against threats to Genie sounds like a most appropriate place to start. 

After about a month, ‘Genie’s Eight’ as they have become known, have gathered an impressive amount of information on the missing sorcerers. Hamir has given them a room to work, which they have turned into an intelligence hub. Computers, printers, file folders and ancient books cover every surface. The walls are decorated with pictures, maps, timelines and post it notes, strings of yarn showing common traits and connections. Genie stands in the room alone late one night, knowing they have worked so diligently. She is so proud of each and every one of them. 

But the time is near for action. There are connections, but it is an amorphous mass, she knows the answer is there, somewhere in the mess and mass of gathered information. Clearing a space in the middle of the room, she settles herself into a meditative pose. Taking the Tome of Thokmey Dargey from her sash, she opens it to a random page, placing her hands palm down on the brittle pages. Usually, she does this privately, hoping Stephen’s voice will help her when things seem darkest. Now she will try to channel the power of the relic in order to solve their mystery, or move them forward. 

Time stills, the room is dimly lit, the classrooms and corridors surrounding this space are quiet and empty. Breathing slow and steady, she closes her eyes and searches for the warming energy with her hands. Pulling on her magic, she imagines her fingers as connections, pathways for information, like nerves throughout the body. Keeping her mind calm and focused, she reaches and pulls. It starts slow, with that buzzing energy in her fingers, a soft voice in her mind. Then there is something new. Images. 

Flashing pictures in her mind ...faces and places, sacred sights and everyday street scenes. The voice grows louder, his voice, telling the story of a sorcerer gone bad. Urging her to sift through the webs to find the connections.

“He resented the Ancient One’s use of the darkest magic to prolong her life. He resented the power growing in me. His anger and fury grew slowly and resentment took over his being, until he became the very thing he hated most. Drawing on the darkest of powers, he searched out and systematically began to eradicate the most vulnerable sorcerers, those out alone, away from the sanctums. There are too few of us left after the Event. Find him my Genie, find him and stop him.”

“Stop Baron Mordo.”


	12. Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From timid to strong, our Genie is on a quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a teensy bit of course language in this chapter...

Genie and Harlie walk the streets of Hong Kong, day after day. The weather is sweltering in the late summer heat. At night, Genie wanders more in her astral form. There is a buzz under the surface, something she can’t quite grab on to, something building. 

Find Mordo. Find Mordo. Her head is splitting, her emotions strung tight on a wire. Something inside tells her this is what she needs to do for Stephen, wherever he is. She is sad, unbearably sad because their time together was so short, and now so much more time has passed. She remembers clearly his eyes, his voice...but the rest is fading. Whatever they had, it was brief and undefined. Was this the final step in her grieving process? Was she accepting it? The tears still come, the weight heavy in her gut. 

After a month in the teeming city with no leads, no progress, Genie tells Harlie to pack her things, they will leave by portal the next day to return to Kamar-taj. Harlie does not argue, just gazes at her with those molten gold eyes. 

That night, after Harlie has gone to bed, Genie seeks out an isolated corner in the Hong Kong sanctum. She meditates for several hours, without her relic, knowing she needs to find some inner peace, come to terms with her failure. The air is still and warm, the sounds of the city never ceasing, but muted and distant from her now. She floats in endless space, practicing her mantra, closing out other thoughts, chasing them from her inner landscape. 

Be a beacon.

Opening her eyes in the predawn glow, she dons her sling ring and slips out a back passageway. Before she returns to Tibet, she will walk the dark alleys of this city and do what she does best. Find those in need and pull the darkness from them. Still in her own quieted mind, she doesn’t notice the door closing behind her a second time. 

The sun is up, the air already thick and hard to breathe. The sky has a yellowish sickly tinge and the sweat runs freely down Genie’s face and under her clothes. She is tired, full of agony and darkness after hours of finding those in need. One more. 

In the Kowloon District, she finds a homeless enclave several streets back from the Jade Street market, where vendors are setting up their wares for the day. In a shadowed corner, an old woman lays on a pile of dirty blankets, gasping for breath, eyes half-lidded. Genie settles down next to her, speaking softly, “I am the Genie, let me ease your suffering.” When the sorceress touches the old woman’s head gently, the decrepit body tenses, then relaxes as her suffering is drawn out. Genie feels a lifetime of pain, poverty, hunger and abuse flow into her. She closes her eyes and pulls hard, wanting to bring peace. 

Pulling all that dark energy into her center, Genie releases her touch on the old woman, but when she opens her eyes, she is shocked and confused. The body in front of her has gone slack, the skin of her face wrinkled and hanging from her emaciated frame. A voice from the shadows startles the Genie. 

“That’s an interesting ring you’re wearing.” Soft, rough...and threatening. 

Genie sits back on her heels, senses alert. The old woman is dead. This unknown presence may have the wrong impression. But Genie is no longer a lost woman, alone and vulnerable. She holds her hands out, placating...but on the inside she pulls her strength, hard and dark high up under her ribcage. 

“She is at peace, now.” Genie speaks softly. She will not start anything, but she will defend herself. The voice, again from the darkness. 

“I know what you are. I once wore one of those rings. You presume too much.” No longer soft, the sound has raised in volume and pitch, fury leaking out around perfectly articulated consonants. Moving into the light, a dark-skinned man with intense eyes and a strong jaw stands over her, intimidating. Genie stills. Speaking with barely controlled rage, this man, dressed in rags but no homeless transient, “You are new, a fledgling ...you're his…” the last two words come out in a hiss.

Genie stands, steps back timidly. Okay, she thinks, better for him to think she is threatened, and weak. It is not a hard act for her to play. Her words are soft and gentle, yet she meets his eyes assertively. “ ‘His’? I’m not sure I know what you mean…” folding her hands together across her sash, she strokes her relic with one finger, drawing energy and focus. 

His intensity grows, his eyes boring into her, bloodshot around the edges. He moves closer, stares into her upturned face. “Strange. You’re his apprentice. The one he took just before he dusted…” Her eyes go wide. It’s him. Mordo. Before she can reply, he continues with a harsh laugh. “Strange took an apprentice. Calls himself the Sorcerer Supreme. What a joke, what a fucking joke. He knows nothing. NOTHING!” The last word is a scream as Baron Mordo reaches for her, his hands to her neck. “I DON’T EVEN NEED MAGIC TO GET RID OF YOU, YOU’RE USELESS.”

She shakes her head, resisting his hold as his hands squeeze tighter. His fingers dig into her neck, she is barely able to draw a breath to speak. “I am the Genie…” He squeezes her throat tighter as he leans into her, hot breath on her face. 

“I don’t care who you are. You are one of them and I will destroy you just like the others.” As her throat closes and sparks appear in her vision, she pulls hard on her magic, solid and dark, and gives one valiant push outwards. Purple light emanates from her body, pushing him back from her, his face surprised, maybe a little impressed...and then he is surrounded by red and orange flames licking about his knees and coming up to his shoulders. 

“DON’T TOUCH HER AGAIN!” Harlie screams from a nearby building. The flames intensify as Mordo realizes maybe he misjudged. But his anger is boiling, his ragged clothing starting to singe. Genie realizes she has to calm down Harlie before something terrible happens. She gestures to the child to join her, takes her hand and whispers.

“Cool down, love. Not all the way; contain, don’t kill.” Genie draws off Harlie’s fury, returning her attention to Mordo. She knows all about him. He is powerful enough to throw this off, but right now he is angry. She wants him to keep talking. The flaming circle around him has expanded, just enough to not burn him. Genie directs her next words to him. She does what she does best. Speaking kindly, “Baron Mordo, I am here to help. Let me help you…” 

Her words are cut off by his scathing reply. “Help? Help?!” He laughs harshly, seemingly disregarding the fact he is seconds from being burned alive. “You have no idea what they’ve done. What he’s done...he gave it away. He just GAVE. IT. AWAY...and now. You are playing at business you don’t understand. He deserved to be disintegrated, arrogant bastard. And you...weak woman, undeveloped child...THIS IS WHO THEY SEND AFTER ME?” Mordo laughs again, maniacally, then lifts his hands, his eyes wild but focused as he continues. “Tell them I am coming, and I will end it all. Too much power corrupts responsibility. I will finish what Thanos started. Tell them. TELL THEM!” Baron Mordo lifts his hands, and Genie flinches, afraid of this great sorcerer’s power…

He conjures a portal over his head and disappears upward, like he was sucked up into some great vortex. 

The flames die out, Genie and Harlie stand there in silence.


	13. Games' End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming full circle, Genie stands and fights.

When Harlie and the Genie arrive back at the Kamar-taj, the place is overrun with new people. There is chaos, many people talking at once and rushing about. Genie stops in her tracks, one hand on Harlie’s shoulder. Her breath stops in her chest, she is seized with fear, remembering the day of the Event. She looks around frantically for Master Hamir and nearly faints with shock when Wong steps into her line of sight. He stares pointedly at her, then gives a small nod and gestures with his hand to the craziness around them. ‘Look, Genie. Look around,’ the gesture communicates. 

Her lungs fill with cleansing breath as she does, heavy thoughts of failing her mission with Mordo wiped clean away. Stepping away from Harlie she stops at the open doors to the courtyard. Tinley...Lobsang...Sonam...the ones who were dusted, the apprentices she barely knew after her arrival...they were back. Milling around the open area, smiling, embracing one another...how? 

Genie stands still like a statue as it hits her. Somehow the Event has been reversed. A miracle, she realizes, and she’s breathing hard as realization dawns...He is alive...he could be...where? She plunges into the crowd of people, pushing herself through without much care, eyes wild and searching, and then…

A hush falls over the courtyard and she is standing alone in the center. The Genie stands in her purple robes, eyes wide and confused, black hair streaked with silver. The hush grows into a long silence, then a hot wind blows through the courtyard, and a deep thrumming sound rolls through the space. A voice, low and resonant, vibrates through chests and ears alike as eyes lift to the figure slowly descending, dark red cloak swirling and floating…

“Sorcerers of the Mystic Arts...the time has come. Portals and shields and weapons at the ready. Earth’s greatest heroes are in need of our assistance. Report at once for your assignments. Chawa lamto yongbarshok, good luck and good fortune.”

He lands softly, gracefully in front of her, Cloak rippling and settling about his tall, powerful figure. The edges of his mouth turn up just slightly, as their eyes meet. She sees his exhaustion, the marks and wounds on his beautiful face. She tips her face up to him, pressing her lips tightly together as tears threaten to overwhelm her in this moment, this incredible, longed-for moment in time. He steps towards her, holds his hands out to her, scarred and trembling. 

The tears spill over, wetting her lashes and cheeks, but she does not give in. Pulling herself up strong and tall, she smiles at him through the shock and relief and takes his hands in hers, nearly bowled over by the familiarity of those warm hands, long and delicate fingers wrapping around hers. Feeling his pride in her over anything else, she strengthens and pulls hard, taking in his pain and regret, and worst of all his knowledge of what is to come. Bearing it all alone until this point, she feels his relief as she shares his burdens.

Stepping closer, he presses warm, soft lips to her forehead, whispering, “Ah, my Jeannie, how magnificent you are.” She releases his hands and places her palms on his face, skimming sharp cheekbones, wiping away the dust and dirt and blood. 

“You’re back. You came for me.” Her voice is ragged with emotion.

“I would die for you.” His voice so low and smooth, only for her to hear. And their lips touch briefly, warm and smooth and soft...before stepping apart. “Now let’s do this.”

The next 24 hours is a blur of activity and preparation. Sorcerers and apprentices disperse throughout the world, to Wakanda, to London, to Prague and New York. Rest and food and robes and relics are provided and used for practice and preparation. Genie’s Eight remain at Kamar-taj, deemed too young to participate, however, Genie meets with them briefly before departing, tasking them with the job of providing cyber communications between the sanctums, and especially monitoring data from the multiverse, as every sorcerer and hero on Earth will be otherwise engaged. Her young people are honored and excited to have a part to play, with the exception of Harlie. 

Just before departure time, Genie meets alone with Harlie, taking her hands and pulling from her the worry and stress that is driving her agitation.

“But why, Genie? Why can’t I go? I’m to protect you...Hamir said so...please, please let me come with you…” She is heating up, her eyes bright and flashing, her hair and skin intensifying in shade. 

“Sh, shhh, my love. This is unprecedented, it requires total concentration and practiced skill. We must be coordinated in our efforts if this is to be successful...please trust me, Harlie. When it is all over, I will return, and you and I will move to New York with Stephen and Wong. Back in the States, won’t it be good to go home?” She can feel Harlie calming, cooling...but also her uncertainty about Doctor Strange. She pulls on Harlie, hoping her words will reassure and comfort. “Do not fret, child, he will embrace you as I have, you have such power and potential. And I promise if I need you I will call for you. Remember, I am only a portal away.” Genie kisses her on the cheek and then nudges her in the direction of their information hub, “Now go, and do your job. I will see you soon.”

Zero hour is upon them, Stephen stands in the foyer of the New York Sanctum with Genie and Wong and several others. Genie looks around, the main staircase still showing signs of damage from when the green giant burst through the ceiling, but Wong has been busy in the intervening years, putting things back to rights.

Stephen addresses the group. He is calm and composed, though Cloak looks a bit agitated, twitching and flipping about at the edges, can a garment be nervous? Genie smiles to herself, nervous and anxious herself, but being here, where it all began for her makes her realize how far she’s come since that early New York morning when he found her on the Sanctum’s doorstep and brought her inside, to peace, to comfort, to a new life of growing confidence, power and ability. 

She watches him as he speaks, her love, the man who saved her when she was so lost. The man who ultimately would save all of them, she had no doubt. His voice was magically altered to reach all the gathering points across the globe, shining and iridescent bubbles floating about the entry hall showing the various gatherings around the world, ready and waiting for his instructions. 

“Our time has come...for those dusted by Thanos, we have had little recovery time, but we must press on as time is of the essence.” His jaw tightens, many know he is feeling the raw pain of having sacrificed the Time Stone. A deep breath and he continues. “There is only one possible successful outcome today, we can not fail. Warriors, soldiers and heroes, be ready, do not hesitate...the fight has already started, we wait only for the signal...Sorcerers. Hold those portals open wide, make room for as many as possible to enter quickly and efficiently. Thanos’ army cannot be allowed through the passages, be vigilant, be aware. Get everyone through then close them down. Let the fighters take the offensive, look for areas to support…” 

He pauses and looks up...the floating bubbles have frozen, hanging in the air, then their surfaces light up, blue streaks like lightning and golden flashes of light...the signal, then. Stephen catches Genie’s eyes from across the room, a quick nod, then he turns to the boy next to him. He says something soft, something quick, then turns his back on the group and opens a portal….

It seems like days pass in the stark, desolate landscape that was upstate New York, but really it is only a few hours. Once Stephen opened that first portal, they all jumped into action, Genie’s memories are fragmented and layered with smoke and fire and water and the fight, ongoing, all-around…

...Genie opens her portal, her warriors step through and leap into the fray. 

...she stands behind Stephen, joining her purple light with his as the water threatens. They control it together and use it to their advantage…

...Genie and Wong join with the other sorcerers to conjure the shields that protect Earth’s defenders from Thanos’ ‘Rain of Fire’ from above, her purple shield expanding, the lasers and energy bolts deflected back to the airborne ships.

...standing high on a rocky outcropping, she projects bolts of royal indigo at the pursuers of the boy in the red and blue suit, subtly knocking back his pursuers, until 'she' appears, the flame from the sky, she takes the gauntlet from the boy and carries on…

...Genie stands with the others, the other women, Shuri and Wanda and Pepper...Okoye and Valkyrie and Gamorra…she backs them up with her shields and barrier spells. She watches them fight valiantly, feels the loss of one who no longer stands with them. Natasha. Genie vows to remember, to keep the trust and faith of women everywhere who cannot fight for themselves as she watches the flaming streak across the sky as Carol Danvers enters the fray.

...and at the end, the very end. She takes the hands of Pepper Potts. When Tony is speaking to the boy, she touches and holds and comforts this exceedingly brave woman. She takes her fear, and pain, years of watching her love sacrifice his body, his mind for the good of humanity. Fearing a future of raising their daughter alone, the pain of losing the only one who ever mattered, to her, to Morgan, and ultimately, to the world.

Genie feels the rest of it, too. Pepper’s fury and resentment at her man for making this choice, to leave them, to sacrifice himself for the good and survival of humanity. Tony Stark, billionaire playboy, megalomaniac...and Earth’s finest hero. The woman he leaves behind is just as human as the rest, feeling guilty for the frustration and bitterness that creeps in against her will. Genie pulls it from her, looking into her eyes filled with tears at the loss of too much. Ironman’s woman stands straighter, breathes deep in acceptance and fortitude. She gives a tiny nod to the mysterious woman in purple.

And when Pepper turns away, to face the love of her life, she gives him comfort and reassurance in his last moments. “It’s okay, we’re okay, Tony. You can rest now.”

And in that moment, Genie finds his eyes, the eyes of her Stephen, and sees there how haunted he is. Because he knew. He saw it, and he knew. It was the only way. Genie knows. She knows the sacrifice he has made, the secrets he has kept. It will haunt him all his days, along with the other choices and circumstances of his life. But she will be there, his Jeannie. 

His Genie, his beacon of light. She will bring him warmth and comfort, acceptance and love. And she will stand by his side…

Whatever may come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a few 'easter eggs' sprinkled throughout, just a nod to masterworks I've always admired. Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
